Escapology
by juliasejanus
Summary: In October 2005, fifteen year old Alex Rider escaped from his unhappy life in San Francisco. Dismissed as a teenage runaway, it was an act of escape from a life which had no future. Damaged by events beyond his control and mistrustful of all, Alex calls in a debt and disappears.
1. Chapter 1

Alex sat in his bedroom and reread his journal. It was a better option than doing any crummy schoolwork. His four months in America had not been completely wasted. Well, he'd forgone his head shrinking sessions, but dutifully had kept a note of his nightmares, and started to keep a retrospective diary, always adding to each section as he remembered things better forgotten. He, however, had stopped even trying to be an even mediocre student. There was no point. Alex had no hope of ever being a productive member of society. His future, like his past had been destroyed by Alan Blunt and the training planned by his bastard uncle.

He ran his hands through his hair, he now no longer bit his nails, and concentrated on the shorthand notes on his life to date, detailing holidays with Ian and the descent into hell after Ian's death. He paused to look out of his bedroom window at the darkening sky and street lights illuminating the suburban cul-de-sac of identical houses, cars and lawns. He was wracking his brains to figure out if he had any options left. His life with the Pleasure's was now so strained he spent most of his time wandering around San Francisco or holed up in his room. He should have known better than jumping at the chance of normal family life, as if he would ever fit in with nice, normal people. His few interactions with the Pleasures during the previous year had not prepared either party for the reality of dealing with a traumatized, psychologically disturbed and damaged young man. Sabina had been the most cutting and unsympathetic as Alex was still mostly silent, blank and emotionless. The mask protecting him but also hiding the fact he was not sleeping, had no real appetite and frankly could not stand anyone at school. Two months at school and he hated every moment. His American High School experience sucked and blowed. He even thought back fondly of Brookland Comprehensive, not that his last year there had been great especially after his disappearing act in Venice. American teachers just weren't as bitter and as sarcastic as their London counterparts. Alex Rider had been written off as a bad lot by all except Jack. His bad school record had followed him here. His file stated he was a loner, a suspected trouble maker, a lost cause.

Even Tom was no longer a friend, all Alex's attempts at contacting his best friend had been intercepted by Tom's parent's or his brother, who had in no uncertain terms told Alex to back off. He had lost his confidante, his sounding board, his last link to humanity. It was grief compounding on grief. Alex was backed into a corner with no way out.

Alex did not trust either the CIA or MI6 at all. Both had contributed to his problems. He would rather run and not look back than ask any of the bastards who had used him for help. He had enemies aplenty and no friends. He sat and for the longest time just frozen with the fact he was being pushed to grovel at Mrs. Jones' feet, if he wanted anything to change. Going back to England was like an admission of defeat. At the moment even some crypto-fascist boarding school or military academy was a more welcoming future than here and now. He had no communication or common ground with his current foster placement. With that Alex went to face the music of another joyous family meal, where Liz, Edward and Sabina carried on like normal with the silent ghost watching, no longer even wanting or expecting to be part of their family.

It was another school day. Alex was looking forward to another day of being ignored. No one caring as he spent hours daydreaming. His attempts at humour on his assignments ignored. All he would note would be another D if he was lucky, but more likely an F. Alex read through Edward's discarded copy of the Washington Post, as all prepared for a new day at school and work. An article on a new appointee at the Russian embassy caught Alex's eye. The Press Attaché was Antonin Konovalov. A man Alex recognised as the same spook had met in Moscow eighteen months previously. The man was no journalist but had been high up enough in internal security to debrief and befriend a fourteen year old English school boy, who survived being kidnapped, averted an attempted coup d'etat in Murmansk and had been traumatized witnessing the suicide of General Alexei Sarov. They had parted company with the promise of favour from the Russians as a thank you, as Alex was viewed as a hero and saviour of the Russian people and state.

Alex's expression did not change, despite the fact he was in the process of weighing up his option. He knew he was probably being completely stupid but any change was better than stagnation. He did not know precisely what he was going to request of the Russian spy, but asking for help was his only hope, even if they laughed at his for being a stupid kid, he had no future with Sabina. He was possibly being as irrationally impulsive as he had been following Yassen's suggestion of a future with Scorpia. He had no expectations anymore. He was the controller of his destiny, if only for a few days. He snuck back upstairs. The blond haired teenager who caught the bus downtown, had left for school the absolute picture of normal. His school bag contained no books, or notes, just a couple of changes of clothes, all his savings and his passport. He was going to find out just what that promise from the Russian's meant. It was a fools hope, but he'd had enough of life here.

Alex found hitching across America less of a problem than he first thought. On the the highway east, the first car that stopped was a retired cop who was on the look out for another driver for his journey to St. Louis. Alex was picked him up with a simple"Can you drive kid?", with his nodded non-verbal reply Alex began his journey. The journey would take half the time if both of them took turns in driving and resting. The man hated flying or any public transport and had picked Alex up as he looked clean cut, healthy and not the usual bum, punk or hippy. Hank spent any time they were both awake in a long monologue of all that was wrong with society today. Alex had a fake driving license, which stated he was 18, and he made up some crap about visiting family in Baltimore. He knew enough from Jack to make his hastily created legend credible. In the end it took four days to get from San Francisco to Washington DC. Alex now stood in a queue of visa applicants and other visitors. At the window, Alex asked for an appointment to see the Press Attache.

"Please state the reason for your meeting with Mr. Konovalov, Mr. Rider?"

"I just want to remind Mr. Konovalov of the favour he owes me. If I can't have an appointment, for the next two nights I'm staying at the Georgetown University YMCA." Alex knew he was taking a chance booking his stay in dorms under his own name, as the Pleasure's would have listed him as missing by now. Knowing his luck, the CIA would have an APB out for him as a terrorist.

Alex did not hold much hope of being contacted. He had very little of his cash left. Tomorrow he would ring Edward and face the music. He noted a dark SPV pull up and the window wound down and a nondescript man in a dark suit and sunglasses in a heavy russian accent stated "Mr. Rider, Mr. Konovalov will see you this afternoon. Please get in."

Alex shrugged and got in a car with two strangers. He no longer cared about the apparent danger, uncertainty or his own recklessness.


	2. Chapter 2

Alex took in all the details of the car journey, the full description of the two guys in the car, the twists and turns of the journey and finally the destination. The teenage boy was shown into a building and assumed it was the embassy but the car had pulled into a gated entrance into a parking lot. It could have been anywhere.

The office was bare with a desk, two chairs and blinds pulled on the windows. Alex immediately recognized the man sat as the man who had interviewed him and comforted him in Russia, before the arrival of Mrs Jones from London, when she came to pick up her misplaced operative. Alex had known the Russian's could have arrested him, interrogated him, but instead had treated him with gentle kindness. Of all he had crossed paths with during his espionage work, they had not lied to him, tricked him to work for them or treated him with cool condescension. "Good Afternoon, Mr. Rider... Alex. I was quite shocked to receive your request for a meeting" The man smiled, "Please sit, I will have tea and some refreshments brought in. You look tired and hungry."

Alex sat in silence. He drank the hot sweet tea, before broaching his request, not quite sure what he wanted. "You said I could ask a favour, if I needed it, when we met fifteen months ago." Alex put down the glass with a slightly unsteady hand. "I don't know what you know about me, but I need a refuge... a sanctuary... I need to get away. I think I'm a bit paranoid. I don't trust Mrs. Jones or Joe Byrne. I'm sure they will use me again. They will find something to blackmail me with and I'll be back to square one."

"I'm sorry, Alex. What do you mean by blackmail?"

Alex looked at the man behind the desk. "You thought I volunteered for all that shit?" The teenager could not believe they thought he was a patriot. Did they think he was asking a favour as a spook? That he was the enemy and had walked into enemy territory, as no spy had friends, even among allies. Alex shook his head. If he had not been so worn out he would have laughed until he cried. "After Ian died... you know, they told me it was a car crash. I could tell it was a pile of bull shit, so I investigated. I caught the eye of Alan Blunt. That bastard set me up, a test of sorts and I played straight into his hands. I was drugged and dragged of for a nice threatening lunch, continue where Ian left off or loose everything. I worked for them and I got to stay in my home with Jack looking after me or they deported her and I was sent to some home for delinquent kids. They used me, then leant me out to the CIA, thats when we met, after their operation to watch Sarov on Cuba. I wanted none of it. Just home and school. I wanted to be a footballer. Now, I want to disappear."

Antonin said nothing. This was a very different version of events than the background Mrs Jones had told him when he had questioned her personally about using a child in operations. Both Ian and John Rider had been known to Federal State Security and their predecessors, the KGB. The son and nephew of patriots had not volunteered but had been forced into the harsh cruel world of spying and terrorism.

Alex looked at the man, who seemed genuinely unhappy at this revelation. "I... I don't know who to turn to. I have no friends, no family. I feel trapped. Can you help me? I don't know what to do anymore. I can't seem to fit at school. My foster placement just sucks. Do I have any options? I feel like I've lost everything."

"We know of your work. We have kept tabs on you. The fact your housekeeper, Jack Starbright was killed in Egypt."

The russian noted a tension in the boy, here was a child grieving and alone. Used and then left to fend for himself. Pushed to the point where he could not, would not trust those who had used him.

"You know about Cairo... Do you really? The CIA water boarded me. That was an experience I'll tell you. I still have nightmares about that. I can't take showers anymore. I wash like an old man in the sink. Everyone at school thinks I have serious issues. I had a shrink when I first came to America but with OSA and all that shit I can't talk about anything. So I don't talk. Hell, this is treason, asking you for help. I don't care... I had to get away from all the pretending everything was OK when it wasn't. It hasn't been since Ian died."

Alex pulled out a his journal. "I've made notes... its standard pitman shorthand. Everything is in there. No secrets now. You can then suggest what I should do. I've had no follow through, no back up. I think I've been left out to dry... you know, been burned. Left to be a failing student. They have stolen my future. I'll fail or drop out of High School become a bum or trapped in dead end jobs. A nobody. That way I can't embarrass them, can I? Who'd believe I was a teenage spy when I'm a complete loser"

"Alex, we meant it when we offered you a boon. We will help you." Antonin spoke a short brusk set of instructions in Russian, as the journal was taken to be appraised to note the comparison with the details they had no file. Konovalov then really looked at the boy. "You look tired, Alex? Do you want to rest?"

"Umm, I haven't slept in over two days. I was going to go to the YMCA and just crash."

"I ordered my men to intercept you. The Americans have issued a warrant for your arrest under the Patriot Act. You are a known agent of a foreign government, but you also have connections to terrorists. You are being sought as a protective measure not as someone dangerous to approach."

Alex had known he was still under the jurisdiction of his former masters. "So, by running I've played into Byrne's and Jones hands. Great!"

The russian never made rash promises. "We can intercede on your behalf. I can put pressure to bare to keep you safe. You have asked for help. Do you really want nothing to do with your colleagues?"

"Abusers... thats what they are. I'm a school kid. They made me a child soldier." Bitterness bled into every word, before the tired blond relaxed and melted from a hard operative to a lost kid, even if he had no innocence left, he was still only fifteen. "I need what I have never had. I need guidance, I need hope, Antonin. I might be paranioid, but they really are out to get me and I don't trust them not to just lock me up and forget about me."

The day Alex Rider was noted as missing by the San Francisco Police Department as 19th October 2005. Two days after his actual departure from the Pleasures. No one thought to look for Alex in Washington DC on the 21st. The evening flight to Moscow had one last minute addition who went through passport control with a battered Russian passport as twenty year old embassy intern Sergei Volonin. The real intern was on his way to Canada and then back to Moscow on a cargo plane. Antonin Konovalov had lived up to his promise of help to a fifteen year old at the end of his tether. Alex asked for help from a man he barely knew, a stranger who took pity on a child who was failing to cope with his grief, who had broken down and confessed the truth of his misuse by MI6 and their allies.


	3. Chapter 3

Edward had watched the bright, lively and sarcastic boy he knew as Sabina's good friend become as cold and emotionless as any full trained government operative or assassin. The boy had withdrawn form all contact and interaction since joining them in July, even when faced with the screaming insults from Sabina. Alex had never asked for help, never discussed his ongoing problems and had become just an occasional silent observer in their home. With the fact Sabina had turned her back on her friend, even after Edward had tried to explain to her that Alex would never trust an adult, not after being used and abused for over a year by his own government, unable to talk about the reality of what had hurt him.

Edward had spent three months tracking down the details of all Alex had been involved in. The journalist knew a great deal about Cray and McCain and had a rough idea about the details of Jack's death, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Edward had been working long hours in October and came home to find out that Alex had disappeared. It was not the first time, their foster child had gone off without a word. After two days, Edward had called the police. Edward wondered if Alex had just runaway, been abducted or worst killed himself. He spoke to two cops who were treating their foster son's disappearance as just a family misunderstanding. "He'll turn up when his money runs out." The journalist then went to his study to make the call to London. After everything, was this contact to Alex's previous guardians going to be seen as the ultimate betrayal by Alex? The phone connected directly to Mrs. Jones' secretary. He was put through. Edward knew that Alex had burned his bridges now, of moving past his problems and his chance of a normal life. Mrs Jones would moved for more institutionalised care for the damaged teenager.

Edward felt he had failed Alex, the more he had uncovered a horror story that had been the boy's life. A journalist in London, involved with Desmond McCain, had disappeared in January, but his files left with a contact had been passed onto Edward. Files not from the government but from the terrorists affiliated to that bastard Gregorovich. It was one hell of a story linking back to John Rider and MI6 operations in the 1980's. Edward would put this story on hold and hope Alex turned up, got his act together and regained trust and hope. The man had tried to interact with Alex but, he had been met with the blank stony face of a teenager unwilling to open up to anyone. Edward had known it was Alex's way of protecting them and himself. He hd never wanted to work as a spy, threats against Jack had been used to force him. If he stayed aloof and estranged, those threats could not be leveled at his foster family.

Edward filed his notes and went upstairs to find his wife packing away the few items left in Alex's room. Nothing personal, just a few clothes and school books. Just proving Alex had just been existing here, it had never even been considered home by the teenager, who had just been waiting for the abuse to start again. Had Alex run to find help or a home, out of MI6's knowledge or control. Edward hoped so.

After a week without Alex, Sabina finally processed that her friend, well ex-friend was not coming back. She had screamed and ranted at Alex, wanted to shake him until his personality returned. The boy she had befriended at Wimbledon had disappeared piece by piece until only a shell remained, a facsimile had replaced him. It was as if the confrontation with his evil-doppelgänger had destroyed him. Sabina had not been party to the details of all that had gone wrong in Cairo. Only that Jack had died and Alex had been forced to watch. Whatever had happened it had broken her friend. She had read psychology books but her friend's cold exterior and non chalant behaviour at school where he had ignored all who had tried to befriend him. In frustration, Sabina finally decided to stop being a bitch and try and track down Alex. Her first port of call was the short list of Alex's friends, some chap called Ben Daniels, James Hale and Tom Harris, alex's school chums from Brookland and two others Alex had befriended over the year, a James Sprintz and a Paul Drevin. She used her dad's laptop and the contacts to get a series of ex-directory phone numbers. Tom had been the easiest to contact.

"Hello... is Tom there, Its Sabina Pleasure."

"Hi, Sab, How's grumpy... I mean Alex. I guess he's still not got over Jack's death. I'm a bit miffed about reading about it all in the paper. Is he really depressed? I'm surprised he hasn't called. Its been four months, I know I was in Italy all summer, but he has Jerry's number. God, sorry having a bit of a one sided conversation here"

"Alex has written.. phoned and tried to email you loads but I guess his messages never got through. Well we haven't been talking lately. I've been a bit of a bitch actually. So, I guess you never got any of Alex's letters or messages."

There was a pause as Tom processed the fact his family had decided to block any attempt by Alex to contact him, while telling Tom to let Alex be and settle in at his foster placement. "So, Alex has made loads of new friends at High School then."

"Oh God, Tom.. Its been awful. Alex was so distant, quiet, like a ghost and he just up and left last week. He's missing and the police here have no idea, its not like a runaway fifteen year old is top priority. I'd hoped he's been in contact with you. I'm phoning all his friends. I was going to call James Hale next."

"Don't bother Sab. James hasn't spoken to Alex since Year Ten. Not forgiven him for disappearing with you after Wimbledon and not coming back to Brookland until November in Year 11." Another pause was followed by Tom starting to rant "I can't believe Jerry and my parents. I thought I was helping Alex heal, not the fact they were blocking his calls and post. Shit, Jerry lied about changing my e-mail account. It was all to freeze out Alex. Shit, he's got no one."

"I have three others to contact... James Sprintz, a Paul Drevin and a Ben Daniels. I'll let you know how things are going. Phone me if Alex contacts you." It was Sabina who then pulled in a sob. "Dad... dad was talking to mum last night. I couldn't sleep and overheard them discussing Alex. He thinks ... he's positive Alex has killed himself. I'll call you after I make my calls, Tom. Don't be a stranger... you have my details don't you?"

"Yeah.. I'll talk to everyone at school. Alex became a bit of a pariah at school. I guess no one will have any news. Bye Sab."

Tom sat and brooded, before picking up his phone to confront Jerry first.

"Hi Tom."

"Don't hi me you lying cunt. Intercepting my messages and post from Alex, my best friend for four years, my only friend really, is pretty low. I guess I'm glad I found out just what a bunch of shits you and mum and dad are. Don't call me.. Don't email me... and definitely do not try and see me. I hate your guts, Jerry and by the way, I was just talking to Sabina.. you know Alex's foster family in America. Alex ran away last week. Completely gone off the radar. They think he's killed himself. So, thanks for that Jerry, You helped drive a fifteen year old to suicide." Tom slammed down the phone and made his mind up, taking a leaf out of Alex's book. He was home alone, both his parent's at work. Funny to think his accident at school last year had made his parents solve their differences, nearly losing their son had made then stop acting like squabbling children. Their actions had however driven Tom away, he had decided to leave. He packed a bag. Left a terse note and made plans to go to his Great Aunt's house in Kings Lynn. Aunty Dory always listened to him. He couldn't even face his lying, controlling and over protective parents now.

Tom's first port of call was to buy a new pay as you go mobile. He them went to Becka's house. She was a bit of a gossip and was friendly with everyone at school. Tom emailed Sabina from Beck's house about his change in contact details. Becka was happy to act as go between and ask around at school. She had a soft spot for Alex, but had never actually acting on her crush. Tom had become sort of friends with her this term. She understood Tom's need for space. His revelation of Alex's disappearance and probable death had deeply affected the girl, who regretted never actually approaching Alex when he'd been at school in London.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a blur. The flight to Moscow and the transfer to another internal flight to Odessa,had passed with the help of some tranquillisers. He finally slept on the second flight. Alex was starting a new life. It had yet to be decided if Alex Rider's disappearance would be permanent. All Antonin had promised was to help Alex to cope, get well and finish school. Funny how Alex trusted this man and his promises. Maybe it was just the fact the Russian's had never used him. Now, they had no need or opportunity, as a teen agent he was washed up. Alex knew the CIA and MI6 had kept tabs on him, if he'd allowed himself to recover there, to reintegrate, they would have expected him to go back to the family business at 18. Alex wanted that about as much as he wanted to be a professional killer. That was not his road and now he got to choose the direction of his future.

...

Antonin Konovalov reread the update and progress report on Aleksandr Gregorovich Novikov as he drank his first glass of tea of the day. It was still dark outside in his office on the second floor of the Embassy in Washington DC, dawn two hours in the future. His filing system made no mention of Alex Rider. No external hacker or deep cover agent or traitor could track Alex to Moscow and beyond. Novikov was a teenager in protective custody and receiving medical treatment after kidnapping and torture by Chechen rebels. The boy's history integrated into the legend. The legend stated his paternal uncle Ivan, an officer in state Federal Security brought him up with his cousin Ulyana. Both children had been kidnapped after the death of Ivan. Ulyana had been murdered in front of Aleksandr. The treatment files were lodged in the Second Directorate in Moscow, internal security. Antonin was only copied in as Aleksander is listed as family, his cousin. Antonin had used his family history as a basis of the legend. His cousin, Yelena had been an agent in Iran, killed in 1988. Her husband had died in Afganistan the previous year. Ivan and Ulyana Novikov, a real Federal Officer and his daughter, killed by Chechens that summer in a bomb attack.

Antonin had been amazed at Alex's adaption to a new legend, a new life. He had been in Russia a month and was now conversing fluently in Russian, acting and talking like a native. Intensive tuition had been given to the fifteen year old with only few phrases of russian previously. The young spy's training from his uncle meant he was mouldable, quick to learn, absorb and adapt. Such a weapon. MI6 had been foolish to misuse the boy to such an extent. If Alex had been Antonin's asset, he would have been treated like a prince, not casually broken, used as bait and burned.

The unit in Southern Russia had the outward appearance of a top class holiday resort, cover for the specialist retraining centre for the psychological and medical recovery of agents after deep cover placement. Many agents returned after years abroad and had to reintegrate themselves into the Russian way of life. The unit had also treated soldiers and security officers with advanced PTSD. Many had been extensively tortured. The unit provided long term care for those too damaged to return to civilian life. Alex got along famously with the old soldiers. The boy, who had refused help in America, full participated in his recovery programme. He had slowly started to talk to the other patients as he became settled. No one there had guessed the quiet, withdrawn boy was anything other than his legend suggested.

The medical file stated Aleksandr's gunshot wound to the chest had damaged the boy's heart and cardiovascular system. A medical fail for any future service in the armed services or with the Security Forces. Alex had his wish, he could never return as an agent. This information was stored along with Alex's happy acceptance of the fact he was medically unfit for government service. This however left a problem with his schooling. Antonin had arranged a place at the Suvorov Military School in Ekaterinburg, but that was not suitable anymore.

The staff at the Federal Security Medical Facility No. 47 at Anapa were happy with the progress of one of their youngest patients. The staff with Level One Clearance knew the boy was a foreign agent, but now under the protection of Federal Security. The Head of Physical Therapy had taken a shine to the boy, watched him change from guarded, quiet, tense and unhappy, to the centre of attention. The soldiers and agents treating the teenager as a mascot. The boy accepting help, taking part in team sports and learning the details as passing as russian. Any hesitancy or blankness was passed off as his PTSD. Alex's flashbacks, night terrors and insomnia were lessening. One particularly bad flashback caused by a prank gone wrong. During Alex's first week of treatment, a young soldier had rigged a bucket of water over the dining room entrance. A drenched teenager had started screaming blue murder and had needed to be sedated. All present watched knowingly and surmised the kid had been waterboarded.

...

The security meeting was a weekly update on terrorism which affected all security services across the world. Antonin sat in to discuss intelligence reports, alerts and goals in the post-cold war world of semi-allies between Russia and America.

The Deputy Director of Homeland Security was an FBI officer specialising in intelligence, in his life as a field agent he had watched and tailed diplomats, aides and workers at the Russian Embassy, now they had an uneasy working relationship.

"You look tired, Antonin. You need to take things easy. Learn to delegate." stated the smart-arsed American with a smile as he drank his green tea.

Antonin made a show of pulling out his flask to pour a shot of brandy into the black foul coffee, just to make it drinkable. "It is not work that worries me. Family problems."

Director Mark Collins frowned. Antonin Konovalov was unmarried, no children, no immediate family known.

The russian stretched and for once chatted about personal problems, not the usual conversation on sports or abysmal American television. "My cousin, Yelena's only child, has become my problem. He was orphaned as a baby and adopted by his paternal uncle. His uncle was targeted by Chechen rebels. Aleksandr was listed as missing presumed dead. He was extracted two months ago. He had been tortured, brainwashed. He has been in hospital since. I have kept in touch. Now I need to decide whether to send him to school in Russia or to act as a sort of parent to him here. I have not got the skills to be a father and I fear Sasha does not want one. We are not close. Ivan was a good parent to the boy. My only contact was occasional presents, and reading his school reports. He should have started at the Suvorov Academy last year. He is too ill, too damaged for that."

"Are you going back to Russia to take some family time?"

"I fear I may have too. Sasha so wanted to follow his father into the Paratroopers. He was such an active boy, now he has to find new goals." Antonin rubbed his tired eyes, acting the part of a man trying to maintain a cold and emotional detached exterior.

The Head of Homeland Security nodded in sympathy. "How old is Sasha?"

"He turned fifteen in September." They had decided to place Alex in the year below by making his legend six months younger. "Strong, independant and a fine athlete. He was a keen cross country skier, loved biathlon."

"Is he going to concetrate on sport?"

"No... his health is too poor. He has heart and lung problems. From being tortured." Antonin looked up and smiled. "I should just be thankful that he is alive. Thank you for listening. I will take a weeks leave and show Sasha encouragement, whatever he chooses to do."

"There are plenty of fine schools in the city."

"I will tell Sasha that. There is no snow here, though. I think he will want to stay in Russia. Maybe not in the Caucasus, where he grew up, but I will find a good school for him."


	5. Chapter 5

Alex was sat on the terrace overlooking the Black Sea. There was a fine view west across the stormy grey swell. He then looked north towards the evening twilight and the lights of Anapa. He was studying, not any standard curriculum, but a mound of prospectuses. Anna, his tutor had him studying hard to decide on a new school, possibly the scariest prospect of his new future. He had done his four exams to complete Basic General Secondary Education and passed his Unified State Exam. Now he had to decide on College, either in a technical specialization or schools in languages, humanities, science or engineering. His passing grade was 'good'. Better than he had hoped for in America or London. He had the choice of any institution, a guarantee of the full support of the Federal Russian Government.

He had also to decide on location. Nowhere too westernized. Antonin's choice of Volgograd or Ekaterinburg or maybe Nizhny Novgorod. Alex thought on Languages, an easy way to excellent results but also very predictable. He had piled the choices into no way, into which went science, engineering computing and mathematics. He had placed sport into that pile. His heart condition meant intense physical training was out. He had the choice of theatre studies, medical school or a technical specialization. He was leaning towards doing something completely unexpected, drama and theatre. He had been a half hearted participant in school productions at Brookland. His spare time taken up with sport, sport and more sport, which left no time for drama. He had enjoyed it, though. Wasn't espionage and living in legend just the ultimate form of the Stanislavski method. Alex smiled ruefully thinking of doing something so different from the life Ian and Blunt had planned out for him.

Alex packed away his papers into a small box and went downstairs. He shared a room with two others, both paratroopers injured during incidents in Chechnya. They were going back to their unit after being cleared fit. Alex had observed them and surmised they were the Russian equivalent of the SAS, Spetznaz. Not that they said anything about their black ops work when Alex was around. As Alex quietly approached his room he heard voices. He put his back against the wall and listened by the open door.

"I can't believe they're releasing the boy. He's still jumpy as hell, he guards everything he says or does and there is no trust in his eyes. He expects everyone to hurt him. No kid should act like that."

"I've been in group therapy with him, Gennadi, he talks of being water boarded, threatened, half drowned, beaten, stabbed and burned. Those bastards did a number on him. Then he breaks down and talks of his cousin, well more sister and mother, since she brought him up. The bastards rigged it so she thought she could escape and blew her up in the truck while Sasha watched. He'll learn to be normal, act like a kid, but he's not one. He's seen and experienced too much. Just remember him when we go back. Make those rebel scum pay."

"Its not that, Misha. Those terrorists tried to convert him. Maybe he's a sleeper. Christ, just look who his guardian is... a Colonel in Directorate 1 of Federal Security. Who knows what that kid's capable off. He's already killed to escape his kidnappers."

"Well, we'll find out tomorrow. Antonin Konovalov is coming to take Sasha on holiday. They're going skiing. I heard Anna gossiping about it. I better shut up. Its meant to be a surprise for the kid before he goes to boarding school. I heard he was going to the Suvorov Academy."

Alex smiled, good to hear that the gossip grapevine was as good here as at school in London. It felt strange, Alex guessed he was surprised, happy and puzzled that Antonin would take time out of his busy life for a teenager he'd spoken too only a handful of times. Alex had spoken and written to the man, his only quasi-friend really in this new reality. Maybe he was beginning to trust again. At this point the fifteen year old could not decide if that was a bad or a good thing.

The Alex heard Gennadi laugh. "That kid will eat everyone there alive. God, help them. Little Aleksandr is far too sneaky and clever to become a little cadet. I reckon his cousin will take him to America with him. The kid's been brought up to speak English, French and Spanish. He's definitely Konovalov's protégé. Did you ever meet Captain Ivan Novikov? He was an interrogation specialist. No wonder the Chechens did that to his kids. Better if Sasha turns his back on all that shit. Bet, he becomes a translator."

"Or an interrogator. He's had a crash course in it already."

Alex then walked in to see the surprised faces of his two room mates. He dropped the box on his bed. Before stating out of the blue at the two men, who were wondering just what had been overheard. "I failed my medical for Suvorov. I'm going to some school in Siberia." Let them think he was off into internal exile. Not trusted, but kept under observation. Yes, that would fit his legend better.

Antonin sat and pondered all Alex had told him over breakfast. "I was considering taking you back with me to Washington. I thought you would be happier in a more familiar environment."

Alex sat up and stopped eating, to look the Russian in the eye. This master spy was at the top of his game. Alex wondered if he was still playing the game, the rules seemed simpler now. He was no longer a pawn in any active sense. "I know I'll be safer here. I might decide to re-emerge after school but at the moment being hidden is my top priority. The cover of my torture and brainwashing by Chechen rebels. You should not trust me, I did go after Scorpia to join them. God, I still have more empathy for Yassen than Ian at this point in time." Alex looked at the man and smiled, not the hard grimace that had become his usual expression but a softening of the blank mask. "It has comforted me that you accept that the assassination attempt by Scorpia, compromised my health to such an extent, you would have retired me there and then. I should have been put in protective custody then, had my identity changed. Only MI6 and their allies continued to use me."

Antonin had been in the game a long time. He was a similar age to Alex's birth father, just over fifty. He had risen far. Now a station chief in America, operating within the diplomatic community. In the next few years he would either continue at this level but could make Directorate Chief. "I have noted your skills, the training you have undertaken and your success in operations make you unique. You have been open with us. I think you underplay you intelligence. Enjoy school, do not hold back. I think you will make a fine actor now you have decided on that path. You will be housed in a hostel for your two years in higher secondary school. With other students, most aged over 17, but I do not think you require foster parents. You will be allotted the standard living allowance plus a service pension. Not a great deal but adequate for your living requirements. You may decide to get a job. I would suggest using your language skills. Become a tutor or do freelance translation work. I plan on seeing you when I can. I am looking forward to skiing this week. "

"Going to teach me how to cross county ski?"

"Come now, Alex. You know how to ski very well. I wish to get to know my cousin better before your exile to Ulan-Ude. Enjoy school there. Explore the town. Date, play sports, the opera, ballet and theatre are very good. Be a good boy, try not to get into trouble."

"Trouble finds me, Antonin" Alex said considering the past.

"Not there. You are just another student."

Alex bit his lip and pushed the food around on his plate. "What if I make friends? Can I tell them about anything?"

Antonin finished his plate of bread and cold cuts. Looking at the morose boy, caught in thoughts of his past. "This is a new beginning. Your legend is in place for your protection. If you trust them not to betray you, tell them. I would suggest you get either myself or my colleagues to check anyone you get close to out before spilling your secrets. I myself would urge caution. Trust no one. Keep your secrets. Friends will accept you, without knowing your real past."

Alex sighed. "I know its up to me to draw a line under things. Its going to be hard."

"Yes, it is. You must trust yourself and your instincts. Don't try and change yourself too much. You have made friends here. You will have no problems in your new school. Your legend is close enough to the truth. Only names and places changed. I have friends, who have returned from deep cover assignments who have settled into a more sedate, normal way of life. It takes time to get used to it, but they have settled and prospered." Antonin had a few close friends from his days as a handler and a field agent. Looking back they were days fraught with danger but also had provided some of his happiest memories. Now his life was meetings, memos and reports.

"Are you my handler?"

"No Alex, I am your friend."


	6. Chapter 6

Smithers had made friends with the girl in charge of archives. Margo was a dear and had a darling husband as well, who was in general stores. The technical genius no longer hid behind a fat suit. He had also been transferred out from Special Operations, taken a promotion and moved to the Research and Technical Division at MI6 Headquarters across London. After Cairo, he was now retired from field operations. No direct contact with Agents, the Quartermasters had all interaction with Operational personnel here. He did not miss being at the sharp end. He did however still keep his eyes and ears open for gossip. The news of Alex's disappearance had reached him. He felt oddly responsible for the boy. He had been Alex's handler in Cairo and it had all gone pear shaped. He had been extracted on schedule when Alex and Jack had disappeared. The CIA had debriefed Alex after the whole incident with Scorpia. Smithers had expected to see the boy on his return to London. Only to find out he had been fostered and had moved to San Francisco.

Margo was on the phone as Derek pulled up Alex's file. Missing, presumed dead. The Psychological Profile stated an alienated, paranoid and depressed ex-field agent had probably committed suicide. No known threats in the area. No activity with any known contacts, phone, email or bank accounts. No confirmed sightings. Smither's did not have time to cross check across the full operation's record. He had liked the Ian's nephew. No, he would not believe Alex was dead until he saw a body. He was tempted to contact Mrs. Jones for her views. It was Dennis Chalmer's leaving do in three days at the Royal and General. Smithers would dust off his old disguise and gate crash.

"Evening Tulip. How's things?" Smither's felt like being overly familiar with his old boss. He smiled jovially having endured the speeches and blocked the boss' plan of a quick getaway.

"Busy, as usual. I never expected to see you back here, Derek. Things must be quiet at Vauxhall." There was a brittle smile on the woman's face in contrast with the cold eyes. She had not wanted Derek to transfer. Her new Head of Technical Services wasn't half as creative as Derek Smither's, but she knew you never appreciated what you had until they were gone.

"I just wanted an update on Alex. How's he doing with the Pleasure's? I sent a Christmas Card but didn't get a reply. Well, I wasn't expecting one. Alex wasn't one for Yuletide traditions. He was used to Skiing holidays with his uncle." Smither's watched a resigned expression settle on the middle aged bureaucrat's face.

"I don't keep tabs on ex-operatives. You'll have to excuse me. I need to get back to the office. Good Evening, Derek."

Dennis bustled over to his old colleague, one who he had enjoyed a good gossip with. Chalmer's had been in Human Resources for over twenty years. He had seen three Rider's come and go. "Asking after the Rider boy? You'll get nothing from her. All of them are trying to brush the fact they used a fucking school kid in operations under the carpet. Secretly they are all happy the little bastard topped himself, if you ask me."

"I really don't think Alex would do such a thing. He ran before. I think he's run again. Gone to ground. I can only hope he's happy and healthy."

"Wishful thinking, Derek. They destroyed John's boy. What an agent he'd have made. They used him too soon, no decent back up, shitty after care. Never paid the little sod either. His trust fund is just sitting there. John was good with money. Ian doubly so. Enough dosh to keep the kid comfortable. Bet Alex never knew. Come on Derek. We both need a good whiskey. Not the shit they have on the bar here. I have a bottle of Bush in my desk. Lets go and drink to absent friends and all the fishing I'm looking forward too."

...

Sabina had a good idea what her father's passwords were. First try was her grandmother's maiden name, which failed, she then tried the combination of her and her mother's middle names and her own birthyear combined and she was in. There was more than a few documents on Alex. A full set of files on Alex, Ian and John Rider. Another on Yassen Gregorovich. Too much for a quick in and out. She was drawn to the fact her father had hired a private detective who specialized in tracking runaways. No trail, no sightings, totally cold. Alex had not left the US on his passport. All facts pointed to a likely suicide in the San Francisco Area. Sabina let out a sob. Blaming herself for failing Alex. Not that the boy who had moved in with them that summer had any resemblance to her friend. No Alex had died in June along with Jack. MI6 had caused all this. Sabina logged out, not wanting to read all the mission flies. Just wondering why her father had them. Was he going to write a book on Alex? That felt so wrong, morbid even to share their tragedy with strangers. Then she thought back to the details that had not made it into her father's book on Damian Cray. His self censorship may have been due to Official Secrets but it also protected her. Her dad had no reason to protect Alex.

Edward had not had a good meeting with his publisher's. They wanted another bestseller. His editor was pushing for him to write up the details on the MI6/Scorpia story. Finding Yassen's back story was a scoop. He had tracked down the english teacher, confirming details of the Russian's story. His contacts in Russia had confirmed the identity of the biochemist, Yassen's father, who was a well known dissident, dismissed from Moscow University in 1960. Internal exile in Gorky then nothing. No mention of a wife or child in official records. He had yet to track the facility and the village removed from all records. Only rumours of the anthrax outbreak in 1981 near Smolensk. The russian journalist was close to getting confirmation from his ex-KGB contact.

He headed straight to the wine rack in the kitchen. A large glass of Berenger Pinot Noir would help him relax. Then again, he noted he had been drinking more since his foster son's departure.

A soft voice from the landing broke the silence of the late evening. "Daddy? Is that you?"

"Yes Sabina. Would you like a glass of wine?" His daughter was an adult in his eyes, and had been since that awful summer in 2001.

Sabina wandered into the kitchen and sat next to her father, who looked weary. "No. No, thank you. Are you writing a book about Alex?"

"No, about Scorpia, the assassins Cossack and Hunter. No not about Alex. Its too close to home. Too raw." The journalist using codenames not to alert his daughter to Hunter's relation to Alex.

Sabina with a determined expression so like her mother affirmed her belief, "He's not dead, daddy. I can't prove it but he wouldn't just disappear and die. He just wouldn't do that without saying goodbye. We may have been estranged but Alex knew I was only mad at him for being so withdrawn. He left to protect us from those people."

Edward did not want to give his daughter false hope, especially as he had none. "Maybe, I know he's a clever and resourceful boy, but I have little hope. Its very hard to disappear these days, especially without an escape plan, money and documents. Alex had no network of friends, no resources I could uncover. Just his passport and $180 in cash."

Ever logical, Sabina disagreed with her father's pessimism. "He disappeared to join Scorpia in August after the business with Cray. All Yassen told him was to go to Venice. He found them, joined and trained with them even after such a cryptic clue."

"He has officially been listed as Missing presumed dead by both MI6 and the CIA. You cannot escape these people, Sab." Edward took a big gulp of wine. The beverage adding to his growing headache.

"You can, if you have the right friends. Alex help a lot of people. Someone may be helping him. That bastard Gregorovich helped him. Who knows what other low life's Alex made friends with."

Edward removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "Leave it Sabina. Alex is gone. I hope to god, he's with a friend. Just leave it Sabina. He also had a lot of enemies."

Sabina typed up her brief report and posted it to Alex's small group of friends. Her dad had seen official reports. The young woman looked at her miserable attempt at an incident board. It was remarkably bare. No she would read through those mission files and make a note of all who had crossed Alex's path. If only Alex had left his journal. She'd read a couple of pages of Alex's jumbled notes before he left. Alex had been coping on his own, trying to remain aloof of his foster family, sure of the fact MI6 would never leave him alone. She sat back and looked at the photo of Alex taken in Cornwall before she had learned of the truth of her friend's misuse. It was a deep and dark conspiracy. She had much to learn about investigative journalism, but her father could teach her the ropes. Alex's trail was cold. Her friend long gone.

She murmured to herself "Be well, Alex. Happy and whole, wherever you are."


	7. Chapter 7

Alex was running through the trees, fast, an old bolt action rifle grasped tightly in his right fist. Agile and graceful, leaping like a gazelle over obstacles, with a look of grim desperation on his face. The oppressive silence of the woods broken by a loud shout of "Cut, Starting places."

Alex sat down hard on the damp forrest floor and lay back. "Give me five, Arkasha. We've been doing this for hours."

"We only have another 40 minutes of good light. Remember we could not afford a lighting rig or a best boy. Its just the two of us at the moment making this masterpiece."

Alex lay there and gazed at the bright blue sky. "Fuck it, 'kasha. We only have a few fill in segments to do and the bloody film is finished. This is the only tracking shot and you expect me to do all that running and push that bloody cart back up to the top of the hill. I'm the one with a fucking heart murmur."

"Shut up you invalid, get back to work. You've had your five minutes on your arse, now."

Arkady Tupolev was the son of a very rich gas magnate. However, his father did not want his son to waste his life as a film director, but had planned for a business associate to take on the man's riches. It was Aleksandr's money making this film. The young actor happy to squander the 'blood money' left to him by his uncle. The dark haired young man was 27, eight years older than his friend. He had studied film and theatre at Moscow, where Aleksandr was a freshman now. He was a junior professor. He had stuck up a friendship with the strange boy from Ulan-Ude over a discussion on Shakespeare. The little peasant had been the only one in his class to be able to do justice to the English bard and had landed the role of Mark Anthony in the winter performance of Julius Caesar. The fact a first year had landed a major role, marked the young man out as a future star, one who had the intensity of a Brando or a young De Niro, according to the notices.

Alex stood up and brushed the dirt and pine needles from his already dirty uniform. His hair cropped into a brutal crew cut. Their summer spent making and editing the film as they went along. All the scenes filmed on 16mm, with minimal cast, crew and effects. Arkady calling in favours from a host of friends. Three more takes, and a few close-ups were shot before the evening sun began to set. He had written the script himself, with a few re-writes on suggestions from his young friend. It was shaping up to be good. It all hung on the editing but he had had plenty of pointers from the ancient film editor, Laslo Gresky. The old man would approve the final cut. The premier already planned for the St. Petersburg Independent Film festival in six weeks. On the back of that they would get a distribution deal, if they were lucky.

"Shit, Arkady. I'm going to be late for dinner with Antonin." Alex calculated he had just enough time to get back to his digs, wash, change and get to the restaurant. Antonin was entertaining American guests. Alex was expected to act like the good and dutiful adopted son. He pulled off his costume and threw it into the BMW's boot on top of the rig, tripods and the cases holding Arkady's two cameras and the sound equipment. He pulled on a jumper, jeans, biker boots and great coat as his director watched.

Fully dressed and ready to go, Alex quipped "Have fun at your parent's dacha, 'kasha."

"It'll will be slow torture. I can't wait to get back to Moscow next week." Arkady slammed the trunk shut. "I wonder who my mother will have invited over this time to pair me up with. Not any of my cousin Natasha's airhead friends's I hope." Arkady moved forward, after checking they were unobserved and kissed Alex deeply.

"Just tell your mother you prefer male company." Alex murmured as he clung to his lover.

"My parent's would never accept that. I'd be sectioned and re-educated to get over my perversion. Its not like either of us have understanding family. Your cousin would have us both arrested."

Alex pulled away and laughed. "Thats, where you are wrong. I have no secrets from Antonin. He knows I'm bisexual and sexually active. He already guessed we were more than just good friends." Alex stared at his shocked friend and in sudden seriousness stated. "I can't afford to keep secrets from Antonin. I owe him too much. Anyway, one step out of line and it'll be back to Siberia for me."

"And fucking your tutor is not stepping out of line?" Arkady was suddenly afraid for himself. He should never have seduced a student, especially not one with such high ranking relatives.

"I was a very bad boy when I was 14 and 15. I have the scars to prove it. Did you think the scar on my chest was from a hunting accident? I was kidnapped... tortured... I even grew to hate my uncle and all he stood for. No, I tell Antonin everything, its self-preservation on my part. Do not worry about him knowing. He's OK with it. He gets I'm fucked in the head. You, you are just the artistic type or some thing like that. I'll see you round." Alex pulled on his helmet and gunned the engine of his Dnepr motorbike, before speeding off back to Moscow.

Alex made it to the restaurant with five minutes to spare. He looked slightly out of place with his extremely short hair and the designer penguin suit and italian shoes. He checked his nails, he had only briefly buffed and filed them. Not quite up to a full manicure but not the mess they had been earlier that afternoon. His teeth clean and a good close shave meant he was up to close scrutiny. He then entered the Cafe Pushkin. He was a regular diner, He and Antonin caught up at least one a week over supper after a visit to the ballet, opera or theatre. The old Russian was very proud of Aleksandr's success, he had sat in on three performances of Julius Caesar last winter.

The tall, thin nineteen year old walked straight to the waiting table where his cousin stood to greet him and gruffly chided "You are late, Sasha."

The two men hugged, Alex knowing his uncle was not mad, but probably already fully aware that Alex was running late. "Work ran late. No hot water in the dorms, and I had to chat with Constantin." The porter at the university digs liked Alex. He was an ex-paratrooper who had taken the orphan boy under his wing. Telling Alex tails of the brutal occupation in Afghanistan.

"How is the old soldier?" asked Antonin, allowing the brief conversation before he introduced Alex to the fellow diners

"Complaining about his pension as usual. He makes more from getting supplies for students than from the state"

Antonin flawlessly switched to english, "So, Aleksandr. Please greet Deputy Director Mark Collins of the Department of Homeland Security in Washington DC."

"Pleased to meet you, sir." Alex shook hands with the tall black man.

"Lydia Danvers, his wife." Te young russian smiled and bowed to greet handsome woman sat to the right of his uncle.

"Charmed, ma'am" Alex, kissed the back of the offered hand.

"And you know Dimitri and Olga"

Alex nodded his recognition of his uncles work colleagues. Dimitri never brought his wife to dinner, but chose to partner up with another officer from the office. His wife could speak no english was his excuse, not the fact she was a bit of a lush.

Mark observed the boy that had been refused an exit visa four years ago. He had thought Antonin Konovalov a cold bastard up until that point, but the man had proved to be a family man after all, taking full responsibility for his cousin's son. The two had holidayed together twice a year over the next three years before the russian was recalled to head up their own Counter-terrorism branch in Moscow. Mark had seen photos of a blank faced, guarded boy in 2003 change into a cheeky, happy and settled young man before them today.

"Are you following your... cousin's footsteps after college." asked the FBI agents wife as she ate the caviar ordered as an starter with the russian champagne.

"Umm... no. I failed my medical for conscription."

Antonin laughed. "Aleksandr tried to sneek into the paratroopers last year. He has known about his heart condition since he was 15. He and a friend from school went to join the army. They sent Sasha straight to hospital. His friend Kolya is now at Officer Training Academy in Moscow."

"You wanted to be an army officer?"

"Like my father." Alex said in all seriousness. "My mother was in the security services. She outranked my father. Antonin told me she ordered Junior Lieutenant Gregor Novikov to date her." It had been nice to find out about Yelena and Gregor Novikov, his fictional parents. He knew more about his fictional family than his English blood relatives.

The polite gentle laughter then passed as conversation rose and fell over the main course, dessert, coffee and brandy.

Alex went home with Antonin. "You look tired, Sasha."

"Just realising my affair with Arkasha has ended. He's too much in the closet. He'll be engaged by Christmas to please his parents. A compromise to allow him to pursue his career in film."

"That does not mean an end to your affair." The older Russian knew several homosexuals, most married to hide in plain sight.

"Yes, it does. He liked the thrill of seducing a gormless Siberian peasant. He only found out about my connection to you recently. Never realising my cousin Antonin was actually General Konovalov of Federal Security." Alex spat out bitterly. The Professor had got what he wanted from Alex. alex knew he was being unfair about Arkady. He had been the one willing to part with Ian's money. The $20 grand was small change considering the trust fund was in the millions.

"Most boast of powerful and well connected family. Thats normal."

"I survived on my own at Ulan-Ude. I made friends, worked hard, got my place at the Russian Academy of Theatre Arts without name dropping. I was just an orphan. No-one special." Alex looked out of the limos windows at the blur of buildings, street lights and people.

"Tonight was a test. Those American's saw a young, well educated russian."

"MI6 know I'm alive."

"No, they know your trust fund has been claimed. The money is legally yours. Of more importance is the fact you, dear boy have appeared in print. Notices in several Moscow papers on your performance in two theatre productions. Now you are starring in a film." Antonin had a smile on his face. Noting that Alex had not thought that any in MI6 or the CIA would make the connection between Sasha Novikov and Alex Rider.

Alex was suddenly worried and tried to comfort himself that it was just a crappy student production. "One no one will see it. Minimal budget. Slash-horror not high art."

"A film that has a premiere in St. Petersburg. You will get noticed. You will need to get an agent, maybe even one in Hollywood." Alex now knew Antonin was pullng his leg. "I think you will be picking up more work. Most at the Theatre School have been impressed that you have never tried to trade on my dubious reputation. Others would have threatened to get parts and good grades. I am a General in the only slightly reformed KGB after all"

"You know, Antonin. I never wanted success or fame." Alex confessed. He just wanted to be ordinary and unexceptional.

"Yet, you are a fine actor. Lets see if any of your old friends recognise you. Fame will act as another shield from them."

"Really?"

"Really. I need a good sleep, we will both go to the banya in the morning to sweat out all that brandy." Antonin then lit up a cigarette, offering his case to Aleksandr. Both had refrained from smoking in front of the Americans. "Take a leaf out of Arkady's book and date some girls."

"Yes sir." Alex got the hint. Easier to become a successful actor, it you were seen as perfectly normal. He'd had enough of two faced boyfriends after all. Not that he was planning on settling down. He'd play the bad boy and date all the available girls at the Academy. Get the reputation of being a gigolo.


	8. Chapter 8

Alex was enjoying a warm spring afternoon, with no particular plans except following girlfriend Katya around as she browsed through several second hand shops. He almost pauses in the doorway of the english book shop. He felt strange, as if going inside was a trip into the past. He had only read his course books at school. Immersing himself in russian and the local Buryat for his two and a half years in Siberia. He tried to shake the butterflies as he noted books read in his past, even if he had read Russian versions of the texts. In translation, the books, poetry and plays had a different pace, feel, all were subtly different, so it was almost like he was discovering a new work. He had never utiised or boasted of his linguistic skills at college, where most could speak English well. The young drama student browsed the more modern books and noted a pile by Edward Pleasure staked on a side table. Alex looked at the book on Damian Cray, not really interested in reading it, and then noticed the newer title lower on the stack emblazoned with a scorpion on the spine. Alex almost shivered looking at it. The title was Scorpia: Death for Hire. He noted it was a general history of known operatives and their operations, aims and decline in the Age of International Terrorism. Alex quickly looked at Katya, who was busy browsing cook books of all things. He opened the book, turning over the first couple of pages to notice on the second page.. 'To my beloved Liz, darling Sabina and missing foster son, Alex - if you are reading this Alex please get in touch.'. In a daze he handed over the 250r for the book. The edition stated, it had been published 2 years ago.

The girl with the dark blond hair bought coffees in the small cafe and noticed Aleksandr intently reading the book he had purchased. She had known him for nearly eighteen months, they had been dating seriously for the past two, after she directed him in a small studio production of Macbeth which had toured the local schools. The young actor was the type to read background for parts but was not an avid reader for pleasure. In fact, apart from course books, this was his first non college related purchase she had witnessed. His small one room flat had magazines, newspapers, copies of plays and set prose, but no other fiction or non-fiction. She placed down the coffees and drank hers and watched her boyfriend's beverage grow cold as he read fast, his eyes devouring the words at one hell of a pace.

"Interesting book?" Katya said in english.

"Umm? Sorry?" Alex looked up puzzled that she had switched to English.

"Interesting book. I do not know the author."

"Journalist. I looked at the photos. It sounds interesting." Alex sat back and drank the cool coffee in one. "Urgh, that was cold. Do you want another?"

"Can't, rehearsals in 20 minutes."

Alex then smiled sheepishly, he had forgotten. "Sorry for neglecting you, beautiful Katya."

"Are you OK? You seem distracted." Katya asked noticing Alex was nervous, agitated.

The blond scratched his head and shrugged and used an old favourite, distraction. "Arkady has cast me in his new film."

"Ohh... Arkady as in Professor Tupolev." Katya said softly.

Alex had been open with Katya about himself, when he decided their relationship was getting more serious than just bed hopping. "I promise our thing is very over and has been over since September last year."

"I know all about Arkasha, I am three years your senior. I saw him seduce a new boy every year. You were different. Your affair lasted months and you two have remained friends."

"I met his new toy. I think the kid is a dancer. He is very pretty. Much prettier than me."

"Arkasha is still favouring you, by casting you."

"As an SS psycho. Nice cheerful stuff. I have the script at my apartment. You can read it tonight."

"Its not top secret then."

Alex laughed, "No... you can suggest some improvements. I already had an argument with the italian producer. Killers are not emotional. Cold, maybe physically beautiful but detached from normal life and people."

"Are you speaking from experience there?"

"Maybe. Funny, learning the craft has been connecting with my emotional memory. Becoming a killer is the exact opposite. I once knew a professional assassin. He was very successful until he met someone he could not, well would not, kill. Then he made a choice to protect the child of his old friend and died as a result of that choice." Alex sat lost in his memories of a man his father had befriended and his attempts to protect that man's son. "We better go, you are going to be late."

The afternoon was fine. Alex would normally be studying for his exams in a few weeks. He was a conscientious student working diligently for an good degree. One year to go, he was not going to stay on for master's but hopefully get a placement with an established theatre company. He hd already sent out his resume to theatre companies across Russia. This summer would be spent at the Gorky Film Studios or on location north of Moscow. Slightly better budget than their last effort. However 'The Lost Cadet' had made money, and had been picked up by a few art house cinemas in Europe. Alex was sure it had only made money because it cost so little to make. Alex had made $40 grand over his initial investment. Small fry, when american films made hundreds of millions. Alex had not told Arkady that his profits were funding two other recent graduates of Moscow and their first films. Alex kissed Katya goodbye outside to door of the rehearsal room.

Alex walked across Moscow to Lybyanka Square and tried not to stare at a building where thousands had suffered. He could have taken the underground, but even after six years, he disliked enclosed spaces. He was always tranquillised for plane journeys, just to take the edge off his panic. He headed, not to the main entrance but a smaller side entrance on the northern elevation. Alex signed himself in and was escorted to his Uncle's office on the fourth floor. The uniformed guard did not comment on Alex's request to take the stairs.

Dima Luss, the old secretary that had served several men who held the post of General at the First Directorate of Russian State Security, welcomed Aleksandr with a smile and shooed away the boy's escort.

Tea was served in fine silver holding crystal glass, hot strong and sweet from a small kitchen. "Dear Sasha, this is only the third time you have visited Your cousin at his office. Is everything alright?"

"Umm, yes. I just need Antonin's advice." Alex smiled, knowing this old man knew where all the skeleton's were buried, even his own. The man was a grandfather four times over, photos of 'his girls' on his desk. The man then chatted about his family and complained over his daughter's wastrel husbands. As the old man chatted, he observed the boy was a million miles away, the youngster was tense, uneasy and possibly unhappy. Had that girl of his done something?

"Are you worried over your exams next week?"

"I have yet to choose my piece for my recital. I think I need to do something from my heart. " Alex said, trying to reign in his train of thought, it was as if his past had suddenly intruded on the present.

"Is it prose, poetry or a soliloquy?" Dimitri had read the prospectus and kept a note of Aleksandr's grades, performances and notices. Always keeping his boss up to date, as the General worked too hard. However, the Head of Counter Terrorism always made tome for his weekly supper with his special boy.

"Whatever I choose... so much choice." Alex had chosen an extract from the Brothers Karamazov, but that seemed false now, not a true reflection of a London boy pretending to be Russian.

Not much escaped the eyes and ears of this crafty administrator and facilitator, as he noted the book in the boy's jacket pocket. After so many years safe and happy, but ultimately completely sheltered, the broken little hero was still fragile. Antonin had taken on responsibility of this child and it had changed the career spymaster, softened him but also made him harder, knowing the depths the opposition had sunk too, had made an already hard man rethink his game. They had been waiting for this day, the day Aleksandr had too merge his past and present to decide on his future. There was a good chance that the young student's mind would break, but he had confronted his past and made it here. The man that had been Alex Rider was strong, tempered, he could weather this storm and emerge stronger. Dimitri was of the opinion, he was only here for reassurance. This young man would handle this as he had all that life had thrown at him, in a way that was completely original and unique.

Antonin stretched as the meeting ended. He stood and walked down the corridor to his office. He halted in the doorway as he saw his most trusted and the boy he had grown to love sat in his small reception area. Dimitri had left his phone unattended to talk to Alex. This small change in routine spoke volumes.


	9. Chapter 9

It was 5am on Monday morning when a very ordinary man of medium height was welcomed into his office by his older secretary. "Good morning General. Your post is on top of your desk. I have some hot sweet rolls to take with your tea. My youngest Masha baked them specially for you."

The General sat and ignored his already bulging in-tray to eat his homemade breakfast with the man who he often felt should have the medals and the stars for his long service. "Please thank, Maria. Aren't they your favourites as well?"

"If I ate all the delicacies that girl baked for me I would be the size of a house. I freeze most to last the week. The wonders of modern technology." Dima was in fact a short, wiry man. Overwork, and a tendancy to miss meals, meant he could eat like a king on the weekends and never gain unwanted kilos.

"I sometimes wonder, when you go home. You are here when I arrive and you are still busy when I leave."

Dimitri smiled as he drank his tea. The present General was one who enjoyed sharing a moment with his staff to catch up and to gossip. Many in the higher echelons of the security services had acted like prima donnas. Antonin Konovalov was always careful to know his team. It was their strengths and weaknesses which made a difference between failure and success. In the high risk world of terrorists and traitors you had to be aware of all.

The old man worked hard but always to his own schedule. "And my weekends are sacred. I finish at 5 on a Friday, just like you. How was the Ballet and your supper at the Cafe Pushkin on Friday?"

"Aleksandr sent Katya to keep me company on Friday. He has not been at college for two days. Did you have someone follow him?"

"Our probationary agent failed miserably on Thursday evening. Sasha gave him the slip on the metro."

"Alex took the Metro?" Antonin was honestly surprised. Alex disliked all forms of transport where he was not in control, or without the freedom of multiple exits.

Dima shrugged "When needs must. The young Ivanov has a lot to learn about following a professional target discretely." The other important lesson was never underestimate your prey. Always assume they are better than you, then you do not get any nasty surprises.

"And your other tail?" Antonin knew, it was just a training exercise and a junior agent would have been assessed, the senior operative would continue the surveillance to point out where the other probationary operative went wrong.

"Olga volunteered and her contact report is underneath your tea. Aleksandr made it back to his flat yesterday. He took your advice and talked to Edward Pleasure. He hired a fifteen year old hacker and programmer, a Yakob Moiseyev, to make his current location untraceable. Even our team lost the signal as it passed through its sixteenth server."

Antonin flicked through the paperwork. Olga suggested continuing to observe the young hacker as a future officer of state security or someone who could be blackmailed to provide information. The Russian noted the complex false trail utilized by Alex to prevent any one to compromise his home and identity "Is the boy too paranoid?"

"No, Alex was in control. He wants to protect you. Plus I think he enjoyed the game. I'm sure he knew Olga was watching him. He also wanted to show off to you that he still is the product of his training. He used a source, a friend of a friend, to control his talk to his former foster father. Alex also dropped off a recording of his conversation. He keeps no secrets from you." Dima stated. The CD had been left in the drop box downstairs for Dimitri's eyes only.

Antonin thought back to his conversation with his formally adopted son. He never regretted the legalisation of their family unit. The holidays spent with Alex, their conversations and letters had cemented their bond. He had been tough and strong but with enough space to allow Alex to accept help but also allow himself to heal. On Thursday it had been a reflective young man, but not a broken one, that had sat in this office.

...

"So, Sasha. You have been drinking Dima's tea, would you like something stronger." Antonin Konovalov asked this while opening his filing cabinet and pulling out a bottle of XO Cognac.

Alex looked at the offered brandy and nodded. He pulled out the book that had shaken him from his carefully ordered life. He had stomped on and buried his past. Allowed himself to grow up, be happy, live. It wasn't all a lie. The truth was before him in Antonin's calm expression, the older man waiting for Alex to open up and explain. The general had poured two generous glasses of cognac, set the beverages on his desk and sat down. He sipped the fiery liquid and watched Alex as he reread the acknowledgments page of Edward Pleasure's book; before Alex asked "Who am I, Antonin? Am I Alex Rider? I don't feel like Alex anymore. I feel like Aleksandr, like Sasha, but am I really deluding myself?"

"You have always been Alex to me. You are also Sasha. It is not a duality. One and the same. No difference Alex is you, Sasha is you." Antonin said, wondering if Alex was doubting himself because he had left his childhood hurt behind and not dealt with it.

"You are of course correct as always. I like myself now. I wish I could forget all that went before, but I have not forgotten. I still dream of those events. I think I have compartmentalized my life. Seeing Edward's request for me to contact him seems so strange. We were strangers at the end. I was not wanted in the Pleasure's home. After six years it is in the past. Done, dusted, finished." Alex paused and took a deep breath inhaling the heady aroma of the fine liquor before drawing the liquid into his mouth and swallowing. "Six years... why after six years?"

"You are twenty-one in reality. Edward published this paperback after lawyers took control of your trust fund from the Royal and General. That journalist found out about this and then knew you were living and breathing, just not in contact with any from your past. That money was laundered through three corporations, several banks and five countries. It gave out financial team a good work out."

"So he knew I was out there. I left all he and everyone else behind." Alex stated this with finality. He had no regrets over his choices. He had no family and no friends at the end.

"That man wants closure. He failed you. Talk to him, tell him you are happy, studying, and completely normal in your new life"

Alex quirked an eyebrow at his good friend. "Normal? Me?"

"Well, consider that you are normal for those acting types. Maybe just say you are healed, whole and well shot of those in your past."

"True. I shudder to think of those people. If I had stayed, I guess within six months I would have been back working." Alex then sat back and looked hard at the General and smiled. "I would do anything for you, you know. Kill, torture, fight. Because of you I understand unconditional love, the ideal of true family. You who would never ask those things of me. I would freely give. You are my saviour, Antonin. For you, father of my heart, I will settle this ghost from my past. I owe you everything and in a small way, even though he failed, I owe Edward an explanation for just leaving." With a big sigh and draining his cognac. Alex stood up.

"Do you want to use my encrypted phone?" Antonin offered a fully scrambled, untraceable phone.

Alex shook his head. "No, I think I can arrange a phone call. I know a hacker.. well know of a guy who can work the kind of underhand magic that can make my contact seem very under the radar. So, no official communications for this, just in case I'm overhead or traced."

...

It had taken two days to organise, $1500 in hard currency and Alex was sitting in a disused warehouse with a state of the art satellite hook up to a Macbook and the promise that no security agency on earth would track this call, well hack into Microsoft Messenger.

...

Edward Pleasure was in final preparation for his two day intensive course in Investigative journalism for the Guardian newspaper to start on Saturday. Now he was visiting professor at Berkley and City University in London. Writer's block and an unwillingness to go back to the dirty business of being at the sharp end of uncovering facts and the truth behind the facades of the supposed great and good, meant he now settled for teaching his craft. He had two books written, both about Alex, both he had left unfinished. He hoped to cross paths with the young man he had fostered and failed to help. However, after nearly three years that seemed unlikely. Liz had thrown herself into voluntary work in the States in hope of finding Alex in the Greater Bay Area. She had helped many. They had fostered a string of teens, helped some and losing others to their demons, but Alex's photo was still in their hall. Their lost foster son, who had just disappeared into thin air in October 2002.

The small cubicle at the Guardian newspaper was where he was burning the midnight oil. Liz and Sabina were off at the theatre tonight and then visiting friends and relatives this weekend, while he worked.

He noted a new contact on his messaging service, one he was about to delete but it stated in capitals 'ALEXRIDER'.


	10. Chapter 10

Alex was sat on a folding chair, the derelict warehouse was cold despite it technically being a quite warm spring afternoon in Moscow. Yakob was in the stolen van outside, checking the signal integrity or something. He was prepared for a long wait and had a cup of decent italian coffee, brewed on a camping stove and improved by cheap brandy, definitely nothing like the quality stuff Antonin preferred. Alex knew there was a good chance his message icon would be ignored by Edward, but maybe it was only Alex himself that had no interest in messaging, social media or any sort of cyber identity. This was his first time on Messenger, the profile would be deleted as soon as Alex had confirmed his status as living and breathing to Edward Pleasure.

The web cam had only a narrow range of view and the room behind Alex gave nothing of his location away. He had also carefully dressed in an old worn Gap sweatshirt and ripped Levi 501's. Clothes that could be found anywhere on the globe. Now it was a waiting game. He had checked his reflection connecting differences between the boy to the man. There was very little of the fifteen year old boy in his face now. His eyes were still brown, Katya had stated they always looked sad. His hair was darker blond coming out of the dark winter in Moscow. While his face was still thin, his nose and chin were more pronounced. He had handsome masculine face.

The drama student then thought back to earlier when he had tried to keep track of Yakob's description of hacking this and piggybacking that. He had the basic idea of computers but that was all. If it had been life and death he would have memorized everything, but in reality it was just stuff he did not need to retain. He preferred books and written notes, and wished be brought a book along to entertain himself.

Alex was slightly startled when things started to happen on the desktop, but he immediately recognised the webcam image of Edward Pleasure that popped up. It was slightly impersonal way of getting in contact, but with a live image the journalist would know that this was really him and not an imposter. Alex lit up a Gauloises and smiled. "Good evening Edward. I finally read your message to get in touch."

"Alex... its so good to see you. You look ummm... well. How are you keeping? What are you up too? Working? Studying?"

"I'm at university... studying and working, when I can. Getting by. I guess I can say goodbye now. I have satisfied your curiosity." Alex stated, unsure what Edward wanted from this conversation, as Alex did not want to spill any relevant information.

"Alex! Don't go so soon. I have to apologise for being too distant in 2002. I thought if we gave you free reign you'd come to us when you began to gain a sense of home.. of trust."

"And there I was expecting Mrs Jones to arrive, force me back to MI6 and fuck everything up. Well her or that bastard Byrne. I... guess I should apologise for just leaving. I wasn't well. After I left, I spent five months in hospital. I was a complete basket case. Or did you think not talking, interacting or eating was normal." Alex flicked the cigarette but away before lighting another. He could talk about Antonin or his time in Odessa in detail but he wasn't going to. "So tell me all about your happy family?"

Edward noted Alex's admission of being mentally ill and wondered where he had been hospitalized and who had paid. No one Edward had previously ben able to trace. "Sabina's graduated from Berkley... English major. Working as an intern for the Metro in London. Liz is a den mother now, but we are in between foster kids at the moment. We are probably going to move back in England in the Autumn. I teach now. Writer's block, you know"

"Really? Not got a book written about a hapless 14 year old blackmailed to work for MI6. I read the Scorpia files you had on your laptop. Fuck it, Edward, I haven't been Alex Rider since that October. I have a new name, new identity. No passport, but I have no plans to travel further than 50 clicks from my little one room apartment."

"Where is your home now?" Edward knew he was fishing, and did not think he would get a straight answer from the boy who had disappeared off the face of the earth.

"... Well.. second star to the right, and strait on 'til morning. Thats where all lost boys go."

Edward frowned at Alex's quip and continued discussing their shared past. "Sabina has become good friends with Tom Harris and the boys from Point Blanc Academy. They had a big party this spring, when everyone was 21. Sabina had hoped you would show."

"I try not to think about my dubious past. The past is another country after all. I live in the here and now. I have no friends from that time and you all made sure a had no connections or fond memories." Alex exhaled. "Fuck it Edward, I'm bitching about things that don't matter anymore. Neither you nor I need a history lesson. You were better off without me. You were.. are a family without me. It was just you trying to do the right thing. I was too damaged then. I needed sorting out. I got a good kick up the arse. Sink or swim. Well, I kind of floated for a while but I'm doing OK here. I'd be lying if I said I did not miss you, Sabina, Liz and Tom; but I cut my losses and remade myself. I hope you can be happy with that, but thats all you're getting."

"I just wanted to know you were OK."

"Not a psycho or a killer for hire?" Alex again relaxed. "Far from it. I'm getting by. I may turn up on your doorstep at some point in the future but I doubt it. Don't hold your breath on ever seeing me again."

It was at that point Alex cut the connection. Yakob would now be deleting files, and cleaning up his hacking trail. So that was drawing a line under things. Seeing a reminder of his past had actually not resolved anything, because there was nothing to resolve. Alex was his own person here. His past was in the past. He did not want or require a happy or an unhappy reunion. Alex picked up the bottle of rotgut brandy and took a big swing. The young hacker came in and handed Alex two CD's, recording of his conversation.

Yakob was gawky and lanky with a shock of shaggy black hair and the beginnings of stubble on his chin. "Do you give english lesson's... my accent sucks. I want to talk like that... No heavy bad accent."

"Its called phonetics, you just need to mimic English or American. I idea is to be effortless. If you need lesson's I charge $15 an hour, Wednesdays during term time. I will have you speaking like an American in three months with two hours intense tutoring a week." Alex smiled and thought of Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady. Vocal lessons in his first year at Moscow had taught Alex so much. Accents from gutteral to harsh, the basics covered all languages.

"Umm, sure. I got your address. You're doing another film this summer. I saw you in 'Lost Cadet' . It was better than some American films with big budgets." The boy packed up the equipment and then asked "Is there going to be a sequel?"

"I'll have to ask Arkady, he wrote it. I think its unlikely, he has dreams of high art not cheap horror films now. I'm doing a small part in another micro budget production later this summer." Alex had an idea that his production work would make more money than acting. He had provided funding for another three films in the pipeline. "Do you want to work in America then?"

"Yeah, in Silicon Valley, California." The kid looked dreamy thinking of a bright future thousands of miles away.

"Good luck with that." Alex said as he carried the boxes to the van.

Yakob was silent as Sasha drove him home and as they both helped unpack his stuff. The actor then sped off into the night. Alex decided to clean up the van and drop it off. He would then go and get very drunk, maybe with Constantin. The man would drink beer and vodka and spend hours complaining about all the students and how everything was better in the good old days. That old soldier was his key to a russian soul after all. Life may have been awful and continue to be awful but there was always space to reminisce with friends.

Alex woke to his alarm on Monday morning. He stank. How the hell had he made it home after Constantin had started on the 'good stuff' after they finished the beer and brandy. Homemade vodka was always a bad idea. After two shots Alex had excused himself. Constantin had then looked Alex right in his eye and stated in his small room in the Porter's Lodge. "You boy, you have seen war... been hurt... you have been tempered by fire. Everyone else here is soft as shit. You'd be good in a fight if it all went bad. You're a survivor Sasha. Don't dwell on what hurt you, just live for these moments. A warm bed, a drink, food in your belly. Simple things are good things. Not phones or TV's and al that crap on the adverts. Just good conversation. Your cousin, Antonin understands that. We talk at the banya at the Red Army Club. He's a good man, hard but you have to be. Being soft is the way of the devil."


	11. Chapter 11

The offices of the Guardian newspaper were fairly busy. Cubicles still occupied to the right, left and to the rear of the grey haired and stunned former investigative journalist. Edward listened to the background noise of low conversations, typing, a distant hum of the networked printers. Edward Pleasure had worked for the Guardian on and off for over twenty years. Here he had cut his teeth as an investigative journalist. Here, he felt safe, at home. He had missed it living in California.

Mike Humble, stopped after getting a coffee and let his eyes wander over the workaholics and the overzealous, still here late. He then focused on a still figure by the plastic fern. He noticed his old drinking buddy, Edward Pleasure, looked like he was a million miles away.

The sandy haired sports journalist moved over to the cubicle, its occupant was staring at a blank screen on a laptop. "You OK, Edward? Or have you fried your laptop?" Mike suspected Edward was writing or editing a substantial text, but was unsure about publishing it. All the hours spent here were not spent on his course notes. The guy had some serious security on his laptop, Mike had heard his fellow journalist joke of it taking only a couple of tries for his daughter to guess his old passwords.

Edward sat back and wiped his face, as if to hide some stray tears. "Umm, I need a drink, Mike and I'm buying." That was enough for Mike to spend 5 minutes finishing up loose ends to get out of the office. It was the weekend after all.

Edward looked better after most of a pint of Pride... "you remember Alex? You met him in July 2002"

Mike remembered the blank faced teenager with haunted eyes who had shook his hand but remained silent. "The kid you fostered and then disappeared. Its been six years, Edward." It then dawned on Mike that the police might have been on the blower. "Jesus, have they found a body?. "

Edward shook his head. He had known for three years that some lawyers acting for Alex had transferred his trust fund overseas. Only it had not been that simple. A sort of contact at MI6, Derek Smithers, had stated it was a professional laundering job. The money had vanished in a complex of transfers via banks, share deals and corporations into dead drops. Alex had powerful friends but not any known but MI6. Smithers had told Edward to look up any Russian contacts, but that had drawn a blank as well. "No, nothing like that. In fact Alex contacted me. He finally read my book on Scorpia, I guess. I was just speaking to him on that Messenger thing. I only installed it to talk to Sabina. He said he was at university with a new identity, that he hadn't been Alex Rider since he left San Francisco."

"Where is he?"

"God, only knows. Alex was quite the linguist, he spoke French, Spanish and German like a native. He could be anywhere and he was not giving anything away. He said he was OK, that he had moved on." With a pause Edward continued to process what little information Alex had given away. "At university...so he must have finished school. God, he was jokey, cagey, articulate and upset."

"Not silent then." Mike had known Alex had spent three months silent and distant with his foster parents before buggering off.

Edward smiled at his friend, Alex was not the broken boy he remembered. "No, he talked. He was different. There was something about how he spoke. I guess he has not spoken English in a while. Not an accent, not hesitant. Oh how can I describe it. He wasn't a London boy anymore. Still perfect diction, but flattened umm, mid atlantic generic, accentless."

"So, he spoke like he had learned from tapes." Mike suggested. He himself had tried to learn to speak Italian. Generic phrases in his esturine accent. He got by but he wasn't fluent.

"Yes." Edward stated, thinking about how Alex had enunciated.

"It sounds like he's perfected pretending not being English, but is still a talented linguist. I bet he speaks all those other languages the same way."

"But thats stupid, he'd lived in Barcelona, Berlin and Paris as a kid. He spoke like a native." Edward then thought about Alex's back story. He hd been brought up by Ian Rider to blend into situations. Now, he was normal. Normal people learned languages from tapes and it showed in how they spoke. From perfection to an everyman. Alex was no longer a player. He had left all that behind. It was everything the boy had wanted in his confessions to Sabina, when they had spoken of his unofficial work for MI6. All he had wanted was to be a normal school kid.

...

Edward had drunk a few more pints and had neglected to eat anything. He stood in the kitchen of their rented apartment, making a stack of sandwiches when he noted Liz stood in the doorway in her pyjamas, "Sorry darling, did I wake you?"

"No I was reading. I can smell the beer from here. Have a good night in the pub?"

"Mike and I ended up in the Thornhill Arms. Had a few. Reminiscing about stuff. He's divorced now. Maggie fucked off with the plumber. He's not dating."

"Good for you, having a night out with the boys." Liz moved forward and hugged her husband. Something had changed. He was relaxed, like he had suddenly let go of an old worry or regret. "What's happened? You're relaxed."

Edward looked at his wife and smiled. "Alex contacted me."

"What?" Liz looked into Edward's eyes.

"He's OK... at university. He gave no details. Aplogised for just leaving, but he's happy, normal, somewhere abroad. New name, new identity. He stated he spent 5 months in hospital getting his head together after he left us. So I think it was maybe Central or South America. He got out on his terms. He said.. he had to make sure MI6 or the CIA couldn't get to him for his own piece of mind." Edward smile and brushed the tears of relief out of his wife's eyes.

"He's safe and settled. Thats all that matters." Liz felt the weight she had been carrying leave. Years of worrying over Sabina's friend, the boy she had never really connected with, one who had kept everyone at arms length. She kissed her husband. For a long time, they just hugged in the kitchen, before they broke apart and both sat and ate the midnight feast.

...

Sabina turned up for Sunday Lunch with her boyfriend Charles. She had tried to calm his nerves. He was meeting her parents for the first time. Sabina had crossed her fingers, and hoped Dad was cooking.

She arrived to find she and Charles were not the only guests. The flat was full already. Edward answered to door carrying a bottle of champagne "Afternoon Sabina and guest. We are having a slightly larger lunch today. I've decided on chicken salad. Been to the supermarket this morning for supplies. Help yourself to a glass of bubbly. I'm just doing refills now"

Sabina smiled and networked. It was a strange mix of people. She knew Mike and Christine, work collegues of her dad's. She smiled and waved at her mum's friends. She introduced herself and Charles to a tall thin well dressed city type called Derek with his wife, Siobhan, who stood with a stiff tall, black haired Liverpudlian, called Ben Daniels. The doorbell went and in came her friends James Sprintz and Tom Harris. Tom lived and worked in Paris, so this was a pleasant surprise. Then Sabina started to worry about what was going on.

Edward then smiled and tapped his glass to politely get everyones attention. "Good Afternoon, Everyone. I wish to welcome you all for this hastily arranged meal. As you all know in my last book I asked Alex to get in contact. It was always going to be a long shot...but yesterday Alex contacted me. He's happy, healthy and studying. Somewhere abroad. He is no longer Alex Rider and he would not give me his new name or any contact details, but he was a very handsome young man. We have all wondered what became of him but now we don't have to worry any longer. He was smoking but, well I know for a fact my daughter hides the fact she is an irregular social smoker. We are all here to celebrate the life of Alex. So, please raise your glasses to toast ... Alex."


	12. Chapter 12

Tom Harris had been invited to the cinema of all things by his sort of friend, James Sprintz. They had kept in irregular contact over the years. The only thing they really had in common was Alex, the boy who had fucked off in 2002, ten years ago now. Tom was now twenty-five. He had lived and worked in Paris for six years. First as an assistant at a photographic studio, taking generic pictures of kids, families and weddings. He had worked on the weekends taking paparazzi shots in clubs and night spots. Standard background for most photographers. He now did mostly fashion and magazine shoots but had also managed a couple of exhibitions. He was on the list on the fashion magazines and agencies across Paris and kept himself busy. Not famous himself but working.

James worked for Saxo Bank as a financial whizzkid. Carrying on in the family trade. Not working for his dad, but in the same line of work. He'd been in Paris six months. Tom had gone to a few parties with the guy. They moved in completely separate social circles.

The small arthouse cinema was showing a Russian film with french subtitles. 'Oh, joy!' thought Tom. Even after all this time, Tom could speak the language well enough but his reading in French was not brilliant. He spoke not one word of russian. He had taken note of the film in the press. It had good reviews and had won awards at a couple of film festivals. An independant, micro budget affair. Probably all angst and serious actors looking serious for two hours, give him an action movie any day.

James smiled at the pissed off looking photographer as he strolled up. Tom was not happy. At least the German banker was paying. As they sat in the almost full cinema, Tom stated off hand, "So James... this is more of a serious date movie. Is it really that good that you broke off from number crunching to get me to see it?"

The dark haired German shook his head and stated enigmatically. "There's an actor called Novikov in it. He plays the silent lodger. Watch him."

Tom sat and watched the film, without concentrating on the subtitles. To be frank, he was certain he'd fall asleep in minutes but he forced himself to stay awake. The lodger did not appear until 20 minutes in. He looked an awful lot like Alex. But with make-up, that meant nothing. Then there was the scene in a turkish bath. Novikov was buck naked and scarred. Unique scars, burns on his back like tear drops across the shoulder and jagged raised flesh lower down, a heart surgery scar on his sternum and the odd flat penny of scar tissue above his heart. Tom knew how each and every one of those scars had been caused. The guy on screen was Alex Rider. He sat fixated on the film now. In the last scene it was the lodger, silent until that point who spoke, gave hope and comfort to the main protagonist almost destroyed by his entanglement with the mafia. The voice was deep, harsh and not a bit like Alex's London accent. His eyes were not deceiving him. His old friend was a bloody actor in Russia. The film was very different than the school production of Sweeney Todd, the only other time Tom had seen Alex act.

The titles flowed with strange Russian folk music playing. The two men sat side by side with only a couple of other film buffs bothering to wait until the lights came up.

"Fuck, James! That was Alex! He's a bloody actor." Tom sat not wanting to move. Was it shock?

"I knew you'd be able to give a positive ID. The scars are real?"

"Yeah, all those scars are real. Alex was a bit cagey undressing after he got burned. I saw them fully, when he got out of hospital in January 2002, after the incident in Kenya." Tom felt suddenly bereft. "I think I'm the only one apart from Jack who saw his back. He was really body conscious about them. Thought he was a disfigured freak."

James then slapped Tom on the arm lightly and then got up. "Come on, you need a drink."

They did not go far, just across the street to the nearest restaurant. Tom sat thinking on the film, on the man on screen. Alex but not Alex. Tom supposed that meant he was a good actor or just the fact after 10 years in Russia Alex was a completely different person. "So you've seen this film before?"

"On friday, my girlfriend wanted to see it. I nearly died when I saw that Novikov bloke. I was 90% sure it was Alex, but I only met him like three times. You were his best bud." James got the waiters attention and ordered a bottle of red wine and some food.

"So what have you found out about Novikov?" Tom knew James would have been digging already. The german kid had a slight complex on the fact Alex had saved him but no one had saved Alex from his demons.

"Graduated the Russian Academy of Theatre Arts in 2009, top of his class. He had already starred in six theatre productions and three films. Then did four months on a soap opera, reprised his role this year. He played a nasty piece of work in it, teenage blackmailer and murderer. It was prime time evening fare, on four nights a week. So he's famous in Russia. Done two other TV mini series, one where he was the main star. In a magazine article he stated he prefers supporting roles. That film is the only one where he's done nudity. The production notes state his scars are from surviving a car bombing at 14 when he was living in Groznhy. A russian region under civil war at the time. Then went to school in Ulan Ude. I had a friend of a friend ask around about him in Moscow. This Aleksandr Novikov was adopted by a General Antonin Konovalov in 2005, a general in the KGB. That film and seven others have been produced by Novikov's small independent production company."

"So have you watched any of these other films?" Tom wondered if the others were any good.

"Yes. If you came back to my place you can watch the two films I was able to get on DVD. The first you'll like. Slash/horror called Lost Cadet. The second is war movie. Alex plays an SS nutcase. Chilling and brutal. He was nominated for a Nika Award for best Actor two years ago."

"Nika?" Tom asked perplexed.

The waiter had just returned with the wine, briefly interrupting their discussion on Sasha Novikov. "Russian Academy of Film - their OSCARS. He's favourite to win the best supporting actor for Apartment 12b and maybe even again for best film as he is the producer." James then drank the newly poured wine.

"Shit, he's famous?"

"Very, even has a bloody fan club."

…...

Tom woke to raised voices. Shit he'd fallen asleep on James sofa in his penthouse apartment on the Left Bank, so much more upmarket than the small converted garage where Tom lived and worked. He stood up to see James Sprintz having words with a model, Tom sort of knew. Tom picked up his jacket, did a short comedic wave and made a hasty exit with"Hi, Luisa, James. I have work... I ring you James, OK." The domestic carried on as Tom exited, hash words still muffled as the lift closed.

He had got half way down the street, when James was on the phone. "Fuck, sorry about my girlfriend. She's a bit of a control freak. Accused me of having an affair with you. Are you gay Tom?"

"Umm, no. You know I used to go out with Sabina. We were serious, for about three weeks, when we were both eighteen. My only try at serious. I don't do long term. Not my scene. I turned Luisa down when she propositioned me during a shot last year, so she thinks I'm queer, go figure." Tom did not date models. Too much hassle unless you were serious and he did not want permanent. He was alright on his own. He preferred dating older women, newly divorced. They liked a few dates and then moved on.

"OK see you later, girlfriend." James cheekily signed off.

The two men met two days later for a late supper to continue their Alex Rider conspiracy group. James handed over a scrap of paper. "Its the phone numbers for Aleksandr Novikov. Flat in Moscow on the top and his direct dial at his production company. He has no known personal email."

Tom did not need any encouragement. He rang the office number first, straight away.


	13. Chapter 13

Tom had switched his mobile phone to speaker and the two men listened to the strange ring tone and then the pick up to a standard answerphone message for the Production Company. Tom groaned. He hated leaving messages. He was not going to let the matter drop and decided to play the professional card when the machine beeped. "Hi, my name is Harris, Tom Tarris, I'm a freelance photographer in Paris, I was wondering if I could arrange a sitting with Sasha Novikov. I found his performance in Apartment 12b intreging. Could you call me on.."

Tom's message was cut off at this point by soft deep voice with a slight russian accent. "Good evening, Harris, Tom Harris. This is Sasha Novikov. I would love to do a sitting for you... I have a fairly full diary at the moment, but I if you email your details to my office, I'm sure we can arrange something."

"Thank you Sasha. You're working late tonight." Tom asked trying to keep the conversation going without outing Alex from his new identity.

"Reading scripts and viewing the final edit of a film I produced. My production company is moderately successful. I only pick and choose my acting jobs since my illness last year."

Tom looked at James at this point before querying Alex's last statement, "You were ill?"

"Pneumonia. I spent six weeks recuperating at a clinic on the Black Sea. I must be going, nice to speak with you Tom. Caio."

James sat back. "Are you going to email Antonin Productions then?"

"Too bloody right." Tom picked up his iphone and quickly emailed his details, attaching his standard brochure detailing his more artistic work. He did not expect an answer straight away. It was well after midnight in Moscow after all.

...

Sasha was sat with his oldest friend, Kolya. The two had spent the evening watched a film in his office. Then they had been drinking wine and reminising on the good old days. Kolya was on leave but his wife was visiting her sister's.

Kolya frowned at Alex's pale demeanor after he had spoken on the phone. He worried about his friend getting ill, not after he had nearly lost Sasha the previous winter, almost dying because of a stupid cold. "You OK, Sasha? Do you know that Tom Harris?"

"From my life before Antonin." Alex had become friends with Nikolai in Ulan Ude. Two Russian orphans in the same digs. Kolya's mother had died of cancer. His father was in prison. He was bright but dirt poor and too old for foster care. They had become fast friends when the older boy had showed Alex how to spread your thin funds the furthest, how to navigate the black market, and how to live independently without falling into petty crime. Kolya was smart enough and had enough common sense to know Alex was not a normal orphan, not with the pension he was receiving. He also knew where state security was concerned, you kept your mouth shut. Better off not knowing. Alex never lied to his friend but life before Antonin was not discussed.

"So...he's not russian?" Kolya stated the obvious from a conversation in English.

Alex smiled and decided to let the cat out of the bag. "Neither am I. I was born in London. I met Antonin when I was 14. I had been kidnapped by General Alexei Sarov. Antonin was part of the debriefing team."

"Why didn't you go home to London?"

"I did."

Kolya was now confused. "Talk, Sasha."

"My father, my uncle were both MI6 agents. I was orphaned as a baby. Ian, my uncle brought me up. He was murdered just after my 14th birthday. I was blackmailed by MI6 to work for them in black ops. Thats how I crossed paths with Sarov. He attempted to depose the Russian President. I stopped him and he shot himself. I ended up working for MI6 until the summer of 2002. Nine missions. I was a bit of a nutcase at the end. I turned up at the Russian Embassy in Washington DC and asked Antonin for help. He was my saviour. I'd been in the clinic for five months before I went to Siberia. I got to be a normal teenager again because of Antonin."

"You defected? You're a British teenage spy? Like that book by Edward Pleasure you bought me." Nicolai then understood. Sasha had given him that book with the photos with the blacked out eyes on the teen spy to see if he could connect the dots. "That book was about you."

"It was about me. I am no longer Alex Rider. I haven't been since 2002."

"But, you've been abroad. You went to America last year with Antonin."

"They know who I was, who I am now. Its all kosher. I was burned. Anyway thats all ancient history now. God Byrne has been retired for over nine years and Mrs Jones at MI6 transferred to be Parliamentary Security Liaison. They even let Edward publish his books."

"Fuck, Sasha. You have a bad heart. How did you survive all that."

"Did you read that book?"

"No, Ekaterrina did. I looked at the pictures."

Alex laughed. "I was shot by a sniper in 2001. The bullet just missed my heart and nicked my pulmonary artery. I survived by some fluke but my heart was damaged. I as a result I have an irregular heartbeat."

"But to be an agent, you need training. Specialist skills. A kid can't just become an operative?"

"Look Kolya, my uncle was a bastard. He trained me from as soon as I could walk. Languages, karate, extreme sports, all tailored for me to be the perfect agent. They said I was perfect for undercover work. They worked me until I broke under the pressure."

"So, Antonin rescued you. Why don't you work for him now?"

"You were there when I failed my medical for the army. I knew at fifteen I would fail any medical. I chose acting. Its similar to spying. Not as intense nor as dangerous, but I like it,"

"So, tell me about Tom Harris."

Alex guessed they would be talking until dawn now. "I went to secondary school in London, before that I'd lived in France, Germany and Spain. Tom was the shortest kid in Year 7. A joker.."

...

Sabina looked at her emails. At a glance she had three from Tom, two from James, copying her into a group email to the entire Class of 2001 Point Blanc Alumni. Could she be in Paris the next weekend? It was possible. Not that she sure she wanted to take her fiancee to an Alex Rider Fan Club meeting. She then noted that James had changed his epitaph on the end of is email to the Sasha Novikov Fan Club. Who the hell was Sasha Novikov? Well it was probably about time James grew up and got over his obsession with Alex. It was healthier to move on, last weekend had been the tenth anniversary of Alex's disappearance. She answered with a quick "No thanks, unavailable. Some of us work for a living"


	14. Chapter 14

Dimitri Ivanov read the group email he had been forwarded by Paul Roscoe and smirked. Captain Dimitri Ivanov was a Security Officer at Passport Control, Moscow Domodedovo Airport. He did not converse with any of the other alumni at Point Blanc, but he was always included in their emails. He was alway impressed that Paul was able to keep track of him. He enjoyed reading each missive, but he remained aloof of the conspiracy theories, the meetings and the gossip. He had no need to contribute as for the last seven years, he had known precisely where Alex Rider was and his new identity.

His kidnapping and imprisonment at the school had hardened the pampered and spoiled Russian prince, he would be the first to admit he had been an absolute brat before Point Blanc. His last words to his father had been angry and full of hate. His father had been murdered in 2001 as part of a terrorist plot to control Russia using a clone. That clone had died in an escape attempt in 2002. He was on the fast track for promotion as a diligent officer of State Security, following his father's footsteps. He had joined the KGB at 18 after military school. He had crossed paths with Alex in September 2006. His father had mentored Antonin Konovalov and Dimitri had not been surprised at an invite from the man to the 18th birthday party of his adopted son, Aleksandr Novikov. They were similar in age, background and Aleksandr had just arrived in Moscow from Siberia. Dimitri had recognised Alex straight away. It had been a surprise for both boys. It was also letting Dimitri in on a secret, as Antonin was going to mentor General Viktor Ivanov's son as he rose through the ranks. Dimitri had watched Alex at that party, and he would never have guessed that Aleksandr Novikov was anything other than a Russian boy newly arrived in Moscow, not a Londoner.

Dimitri had no illusions of working in operations, himself. He was still claustrophobic. Plus there were plenty of desk jobs that needed young officers to fill. He spoke French, German and English well, so Passport Control was an ideal placement for him. He was happy enough to keep Alex's secret.

He opened a new email and quickly replied that he would not be attending the meeting in Paris, as he had no leave due. It was a small white lie, but that episode in his life was over.

He stretched as his shift ended at 10pm. He shared a lift into Moscow with a Clerical Officer, but he did not go home but made his way to the Mossovet Theatre. His uniform and Security Pass got him backstage and he waited in the wings for the performance to end.

The curtain call saw the backstage area fill with cast and crew. Dimiti watched as Alex took a moment to recognise him. They had not socialised except for the few occasions at Antonin's.

Alex stopped and looked at the uniformed and grim faced officer of Russian State Security, who looked as tired as Alex felt after his three weeks on stage. "Dimitr Viktorovich, Are you keeping well?"

"Still working at filing reports on Undesirables, Smugglers and Terrorists. I enjoyed the last 20 minutes of your performance tonight, Alek." Dimitri noted Alex was thin. It was hard to tell if he was still unwell as he was covered in stage make-up.

"Last night tomorrow. If you'd contacted me I would have got you tickets." Alex had enjoyed his return to the stage. His first production in over eighteen months. His only work this year had been on television and working for his production company.

"No, its OK. I'm working evenings at the moment. Actually, I only came to see you as I got an email from an old class mate of ours this afternoon. I thought you might want to read it." Dimitri noted the tensing of Alex as Point Blanc was mentioned obtusely, the only time the two of them had been at school together. It had been a horror story for the Russian boy, but Alex's dealings with his clone had been much more traumatic. Alex had confessed that seeing Dimitri when he was 18 had nor caused any flashbacks as Alex had only known the real Dimitri. He had never been part of the group of different yet identical boys, Grief's abominations. The Ivanov clone had already been in place in Russia by the time the teenage spy had been shipped to Grenoble.

"Let me get washed and changed. Lets discuss the horror of school over supper." Alex had noted some of the other cast members loitering to listen in on their conversation, wanting to find out just who was visiting Sasha Novikov. He had hoped they'd had enough of gossiping about him over his nasty break-up with Katya a year ago and his near death experience after getting flu last December.

The security officer did not know if Alex was being particularly humerous in his choiceof late night eatery. Jean Jaccques offered fine french cuisine. He was still in uniform but enjoyed the fact Alex was paying.

A bottle of Pinot Noir had been opened and Alex read the email and laughed. "My friend from school in London, Tom Harris, went to see my last film. He recognised me." Alex wondered about both James and Tom living and working in Paris. Apartment 12b was not the type of film Tom would ever have gone to see willingly. Superheroes, spies and zombies were Tom's ideal cinema experience. Not a small ensemble piece about four characters interacting. "I've spoken to him twice on the phone. Next weekend I'm off for a short holiday in Paris. Looks like the rest of our class mates will be there as well. Are you going?"

Dimitri shook his head. He was not really friends with Alex, just an acquaintance. "No. I want no reminders of that school. Unlike you, I made no friends there. Paul and I got on only out of necessity of being imprisoned together, but we did not bond."

"I only talked to James occasionally afterwards and you know I cut all ties with everyone when I came to Russia." Alex truthfully had not thought about Tom or James in years. He had worked like a maniac over the last year. He really did need a stress free holiday. He needed to get laid.

The Secirity Officer was paid to notice body language. Alex was like himself, glad to put the trauma behind him. "How do you feel about being found?"

"I've been expecting it. Ever since I went to the Berlin International Film Festival in February. I did a fair bit of publicity and interviews. I even made it into the British press." Alex smiled at the horror of press junkets. "We got our distribution deals on the back of the good notices. I've made some serious money from that film. Enough top make another ten movies and we don't open in the States until December." Alex was more proud of his wheeling and dealing and his role of a producer rather than his performance in that film. He had only taken the part as the originally cast actor had dropped out, stating the film would do nothing for his career.

"I've seen it. In fac it wa sthe last film I saw in the cinema. You were good. I prefer the theatre."

"So do I, Dimitri. I'm planning on staging Journey's End next year. You must come. I will get you opening night tickets. You can keep Antonin company."

"Journey's End?" Dimitri had not heard of this play.

"A British play set in 1918 on the Western Front. I translated it out of boredom in hospital last December. I think its nicely depressing. The main character is a survivor."

"Sounds interesting."

"I bet we get an audience of about three." Alex knew the classics always got bigger audiences.

"Not with all those fangirls of that bad soap opera you were in. You were on huge posters all over Moscow. I even saw your face on a bus, Alex."

...

Alex hated traveling with a passion. Even for holidays with Antonin. It was the whole experience, starting with the chore of the packing and the nervous anticipation, which meant you never ever sleep well on the night before. The slow built of nerves to the full on crippling blind fear of being on an actual plane and then the slow tedium of arrivals, baggage reclaim and passport control. He waited by the departure gate for the Air France flight to Paris. He had been toying with his prescribed medication before swallowing the two tranquilizers. On top of his usual hatred of most public transportation came his apprehension of meeting Tom again. Tom, whom he had not seen nor spoken to since his friend been shot at school on the orders of Alan Blunt. Starting a chain of events resulting in Jack's death. Time had not healed all wounds. He was still deeply affected by her loss. Her murder had left a stain on his life of guilt and deep grief, a quiet sadness. He was glad to board. Even more glad it was First Class. In only five hours he would be at the George V Hotel. Alex had last been in Paris with Miss Stomachbag, he hoped this trip was better than his last.


	15. Chapter 15

Alex truly appreciated money and the comforts it could bring. It might be tainted, even blood money, but his inheritance from John and Ian Rider had been put to good use. There were great opportunities for the rich to become much richer in Post-Glasnost Russia. With good advice, money from the sale of a house in a good location in Chelsea had been spread buying into land, gas, oil, diamonds and gold. The two million pounds sterling was now worth ten times that. Alex lived on the dividends, playing at producing films. He stood in true luxury in the Four Seasons Suite overlooking the street below at one of the best hotels in Paris, just south of the Champs-Élysées.

He was the image of a young, rich Russian playboy and he had every intention of playing while on vacation. The hurt and confusion over Katya's betrayal had just driven home the fact he truly did not understand women at all. He had thought they were happy couple, comfortably cohabiting, each driven by their careers. He never mentioned marriage nor family as he thought she understood his aversion to such things, yet she had yearned for them. In truth he was not angry at her, not any more, She was happy, settled. It was his own fault for introducing Katya to Nicholai. The hurt and anger had been short lived. To think if he had not fallen ill he may never have made up with his first Russian friend. Kolya was a slave to Katya. They had shown Alex the truth over passion. Love was like a butterfly, you could not own it or possess; it it just was. It was freedom and happiness and its loss was the bitterest lesson of all. Alex had loved Katya but not enough or not in the right way. In the past year he had not dated, not even fucked. That was going to change, but first he had to survive Tom, and James, Cassian, Nicholas, Joe, Paul and Tom and who ever else those hellions had invited to their Alex Rider Party.

He looked at his watch, a vintage Molnija timepiece. A gift from Antonin for his 18th birthday. Not the watch of the noveau riche or the stylish. His masseuse was due any moment. He would get pummeled and stretched. He would then have a long hot bath and supper in his room. He was tempted to go for a long walk, just to soak in the atmosphere of the city. He only had fuzzy memories of going to school in the city and his first karate lessons and several housekeepers for their apartment in the 20th arrondissement.

...

It was far too early and Tom was going through his wardrobe with all the panic of a first date. This morning he had a breakfast meeting with his one time best friend; the teenage spy, the teenage runaway and now Russian actor. He decided on typical Parisian casual. Designer but jeans, jumper and leather jacket. He had arranged a photo shoot for later. He had hopes for rekindling the closeness they had enjoyed as boys, but that was a lifetime ago for both of them. Tom had hated his family for this enforced estrangement. He had never believed the worst, he had know Alex had run to survive, to get back what he had lost, control over his own life.

He walked taking the morning air and taking snaps at all that took his fancy, using the journey to calm his growing apprehension. He whistled and reminisced on what had been lost. For Tom, he had cut ties with London. He only occasionally communicated with his father, mother and brother. He had lost his best friend through their actions but their actions had cost him his innocence. He had grown up overnight. Like Alex from that point onward he had been his own man.

His thoughts turned darker as he thought on those dark times. Alex had lost his family and from the information they had cobbled together, his friend had acquired a father figure. A very scary father figure Tom had to admit, but the Head of Counter Terrorism for the Russian Federation was Alex's saviour. Tom did not want to be close to his parents or brother, even after ten years, he was happier on his own. He stood on Avenue George V and looked at the sumptuous exterior of the five star hotel. It was now or never, his past was merging into the present and maybe the future. Funny, he like Alex had left his former life in London far behind.

...

Tom was shown from the reception desk to the Private dining room. A fugure with neat, short blond hair, stylish clothes and pale skin stood in greeting. The two men stood staring at each other.

Alex noted Tom was taller, much taller. Almost 6 foot, like Jerry but thinner, almost gaunt with dark hair and dark eyes tinged with worry, and apprehension.

The frozen moment was broken when Alex, moved to hug the one person who had anchored his to his old life. Tom who had practically moved in with him and Jack in those last months to escape the open warfare at home between his parents. Alex tried not let his emotions overwhelm him. Seeing Tom was in sharp relief to the grief that was the bitterness that overshadowed their reunion.

Tom hugged his friend. His tall, oh so very handsome friend, who was visibly shaking. "Its OK, Al. Its OK. Let it out." Tom understood that Alex had supressed so much, just to move on, but escaping had not erased the pain. "God, Al. I missed you. You and Jack." Mentioning the redhaired woman's name broke any control for Alex. The two men wept for all that had been taken from them.

"Shit sorry about that Tom. I ... I just never thought I'd ever see you again. I never expected those people to accept I'd left, moved on." Alex stood back and wiped his face with the back of his hand, noticing the serving staff had made themselves scarce from the charged emotional reunion of two friends.

Tom looked at the table and sat down. "Do they do a good breakfast here?"

"I don't know. My supper last night was superb." Alex said in a soft low voice full of humour. Tom had not changed he still thought with his stomach.

...

Cassian James sat in a rented apartment on the west bank looking at his mother as she made deals on the phone. Ten thousand miles form Hollywood and she was still working. The Californian was still surprised that she had insisted on coming to see the young man that had saved all their bacon. He had got used to her workaholic tendencies and now had a few of his own. Cass was now a musician and producer, mostly occasional music for TV and adverts but you had to start somewhere. He was not ambitious, happy to be considered good. He stood up and went to the kitchen for a bottle of mineral water, pouring a glass for his mother out of courtesy. He watched her mouth thank you as she then noted her son in a very exaggerated manner, point to his watch and then tell her to wind her phone call up.

"OK, darling. I can tell the time. Its half an hour to the party. Whats up?" She walked over to the mirror on the wall, just to make sure he hair and make up was still perfect. Before returning to sit opposite her son, her wonderful, difficult, talented son.

Cass turned his laptop towards his mother. "Look, Tom has emailed the photos from his shoot. His email states Al is after a life partner and that he likes older women."

"You missed off the older men statement there. My eyesight is not so bad that I can;t read... yet." She looked through the black and white images of a very hadnsome man. The photos progressed from clothed to nude. She noted the deep and extensive scarring. She new from reading the Child Soldier book by that British journalist that these had been caused during Black Ops. She was going to thank this man for sacrificing so much for her and her son. She then cursed those at Point Blanc for their plot to kill her and her son. She hoped the flames in hell were extra hot tonight for those damned souls.


	16. Chapter 16

Nick Marc sat with James Sprintz, taking sips of his low alcohol beer and watching with amused eyes at the bankers nervous habit of checking his watch every five seconds. "Relax Jamie, they will be here soon." The Class of 2001 alumni were holed up at Tom Harris' studio. It was all very low key, so very different than their joint twenty-first birthday, four years previously. The almuni, minus Dimitri, Hugo and Alex, but had included Sabina and Tom in that particular bender. They had painted the town red. Tonight was just a buffet and enough booze to last for several days. The catering provided by a nearby restaurant as none of the men present were homey. In fact, all were products of their privileged upbringings. Tom Harris was the exception, so like Alex in many ways. Down to earth and accepting all, as Alex's friends, true friends. The small club, all in on the big secret, now all privy to an even bigger secret. They all had moved on, really this was not a regular club. They all seemed to be close even after separations of many months. It had been nearly two years since their last meet up at the engagement party of Paul Roscoe. That relationship had not lasted. None of them were hurrying to settle down.

The french skier was enjoying his weekend in Paris, better than training or time off with his family. Here they all were equal, each had faced the worst experiences and survived. He was on the circuit of races, trying to work his way up the rankings with the goal of a top ten finish. He was dedicated to his sport, most of the time. The truth of their evil twins drew all these men to socialise together.

Tom drove Alex to the less fashionable side of Épinettes, where Tom had bought a derelict 1930's garage and converted it into his home office and studio, using the money he inherited from his Great Aunt. The batty old woman who had utterly accepted of her great nephew and his estrangement from his parents. Life in King's Lynn had been better than OK, a fresh start. He scrapped passes in his GCSE's and got a job in Tesco's. Working at the weekend as a freelance photographer. Paris had been a place he had always wanted to visit and after Aunt Dory passed he had just left Blighty behind.

Alex almost made a bad joke as Tom held the door open for him, all very chivalrous. The side door opened onto a large open space, obviously used for shoots with lighting rigs, screens and several mismatched chairs and a sofa. Alex also made note of six men and one woman. The guys easily recognisable as the six boys he had met in the Alpine School above Grenoble, not the four doppelgängers from his nightmares but the six boys who were the victims of Dr. Grief's plot. Then he noted Cassian really did take after his mother.

Alex took a deep calming breath, even with the heads up from Dimitri Ivanov, this was still nerve racking. "Oh, Hi guys. I must have missed the filer about the class reunion. Wait, Tom was not an alumni. Is he just the bait?" quipped Alex, all trace of his russian accent absent, knowing all present spoke english.

"Yeah.. fake Eton fake russian ex-spy boy. What the hell happened to you? A fucking actor?" swore Cassian, the first of this group of men to come forward to shake hands and then hug their one time saviour. The group hug that followed allowing all apprehension and unease to dissipate.

The spy had clocked the room and all its occupants. Dimitri was not the only absentee. "No, Hugo?" asked Alex noting the missing alumni.

"Umm no, currently in a secure psychiatric unit. Confirmed arsonist. Burned down his last school in Switzerland in 2003. Two pupils died. He's unlikely to ever get out. Paranoid schizophrenic" stated a very quiet Paul Roscoe, who was switching off his moblile. "I visit him occasional, one time in three he remembers me. Drugged up to the eyeballs normally. He is one of those that does not respond to treatment."

Alex shrugged thinkimg of the silent Dutch boy with the intense mistrustful eyes, who always sat apart even after his rescue. "He always was very quiet. Hiding behind the lie he spoke no english, when he was taking in every word. Being kidnapped and replaced by an evil twin probably just confirmed his paranoia. I know from experience how destructive not trusting anyone can be. At least I've only had two stays in the nuthouse." Alex then went forward to get a drink. Raising the bottle of cold bee in salute "To absent friends... Dimitri says everyone has to drink two shots for him."

"You know Dima!" stated a shocked computer whizzkid.

"Yeah, his dad was Directorate 1 State Security. My ... ticket to normality was Antonin Konovalov, he was General Ivanov's protege. Small world in Russian state security. Antonin invited Dimitri to my 18th birthday party. We talked. He's a Captain in Airport security and would never betray any state secrets and Alex Rider's disappearance is a russian state secret."

"Shit, I thought he didn't talk was just his guilt over his dad."

"He really does want no reminders of Point Blanc. We actually normally only see each others at official parties."

"Official? You still a spy?" James moved forward for a better look at Sasha Novikov.

"No, no way. Antonin adopted me, I get invited as his sort of son. I'm not well enough for all that spy shit. I have a bad heart."

Joe Canterbury just shook his head. "Its amazing that those russkies pulled one over on the big bad CIA. I noted your file was inactive last year, not MIA. What happened?"

"I decided to come clean with my past abusers, I am a Russian citizen. My name change is legal. I have family and friends in Moscow. I'm out of the game. I doubt I even rate any flurry of activity." Alex took a gulp of cold beer, savouring it. "So what are all you guys up to now?"

Alex learned that James Sprintz was a banker, not on the trading floor but managing money transfer department. Nick Marc was a professional skier, ranked 87th in the world. Cassian was a music arranger, composer and producer. Joe Canterbury was an anti-globalization activist and blogger, Paul Roscoe had started a computer gaming and animation company. Tom McMorin was the last to speak. He'd gone to med school and was an emergency room intern and was hoping to work for Medicine San Frontiers.

It was then Tom organised everyone for group and individual photos, before everyone got too drunk and the party well and truly started. It was at this point, Ms. Jill Masters, Cassian's mom excused herself. She had briefly thanked Alex, calling him Sasha and complimenting him on his production company and his interesting films.

Alex knew Jill Masters was still a very powerful player in Hollywood. She had stepped down as Studio Head but was still running her own production company and talent agency. Her friends included several A List stars, some she had helped to superstardom.

They moved from the studio, to travel to some super cool nightclub Tom raved about, VIP access guaranteed. They drank, danced and talked until early sunday morning. By which time their group was down to three committed party animals. Both Toms had left with a pair of statuesque American tourists. Joe and Paul both had brought their girlfiends to Paris and left early, not to get in their bad books. In the end it was Cassian, James and Alex talking of college, work, dating and getting by.

"Come off it Sasha, you were never a bad kid. Not like us losers."

"Really, what about the incident with the crane or that jail break I stopped or running away to join Scorpia. Hell, going to live in Russia was running away, only it became home very quickly." Alex knew he'd pushed all boundaries of acceptable behaviour but after Brecon and Sayle he'd become a desparate hurting abused child. Desparate to return to any semblance of normal life. "Life in Russia was as normal as I could handle after all the shit I went through. Antonin was a bit like Ian, an occasional parent, there for holidays. I went to school hung out with Kolya, Misha and the other guys at the hostel in Ulan Ude. It took about four months to just relax and get on with my life."

"We all had a hard time adjusting after Grief and that bitch Stellenbosch. Christ, I'm still bitching about it to my shrink" added Cassian. The three lad bottles of water and had steered clear of hard liquor.

James had sat aback most of the evening, listened and contributed little, to the details from Alex or from Tom. He's talked most to the Photographer, who during his day spent with his old friend had wormed a lot of info from the Russian Actor. "Yeah, I still talk a lot to Tom and Sabina. Its good to have a network of friends who understand. Did you talk to Dimitri?"

"No. We never became close. I got the impression he disapproved of my relationship with Arkady."

"I thought you were heartbroken over Katya?" questioned James.

"Arkady was my boyfriend when I first went to the Russian Academy of Dramatic Arts. We broke after 8 months of frantic screwing. Just so you know, I'm bi. I really think its the person not the package, that attracts me. Anyway, what floats your boat then James? I already know Cass swings both ways." The actor winked at the flirty Californian at this point. "Have you had any bi-curious moments then. James?"

"Thought about it. Never, you know been brave enough to actually act on anything. My last girlfriend was a complete control freak. She thought Tom..your Tom, Alex. She thought he was bent." The German banker stretched and yawned at that point. He was getting a bit old for pulling an all-nighter.

Cassian laughed knowing Tom Harris was oh so very oblivious to any of his attempts at flirting. "Harris has a bit of a reputation as a ladies man. I think his relationship with Sabina was his longest to date, three weeks wasn't it." James and Cassian knew the two of them had parted amicably and were still close.

"Tom dated Sabina, but he's a total slob." Alex tried to imagine it but it was just to weird. Then again, they'd became fast friends after he'd buggered off. "Shit its nearly five. Fancy breakfast at my hotel?"

"Sure, that sounds like a plan" agreed Cassian, before turning his attention to James. "You coming?"

"Yeah, breakfast sounds good."


	17. Chapter 17

Alex had arranged dinner at his Hotel for the group on Sunday evening. The food excellent, fine wine and all were conversing happily as if they all had remained close rather than just being just tied by an horrific event in 2001. It was now October 2012, they had all grown up, separated by many miles, but still connected by the actions of Dr. Hugo Grieff.

Alex spoke up after brandy had been left with coffee and petit fours. "So who runs this Alumni Association?"

It was Paul Roscoe who held up his hand. "After we heard what Julius had done to you in Cairo, we all kept in contact. I made sure my lawyers kept track of all the doppelgängers, so none of those freaks could try any of that shit on us. We really did not all meet up until our joint 21st. That was a blast. We held it on your birthday, Al. Well, your old birthday. Why change it to September anyway?"

Alex rubbed the back of his neck. "Mainly so I could catch up on school. So I went down a year. It worked out better that way, after I spent five months in a clinic. I liked High School in Siberia. It was certainly different."

Tom then spoke up, while helping himself to a cognac. "So whats the deal with MI6?"

"Well, up until last year I was missing, location unknown. I actually let the cat out of the bag when I was hospitalized with bronchial pneumonia. I was completely fucked up at that point. I'd broken up with my long term partner, Katya. I'd not taken her leaving well. I'd stopped eating, was smoking and drinking too much and working 18 hours a day. I collapsed in the street. Arriving at the emergency room, I was delirious and when asked gave my real name and date of birth, which went on the computer. Alex Rider was registered on Interpol as a missing person with a security alert. I was transferred to a secure location but MI6 and the CIA then knew I was in Russia, and very ill."

"How come they are OK with you just leaving?"

"Russian Federal Security stated they put me in Protection with a new identity at my request. I ask for sanctuary in 2002, ten years ago. I got it. I wanted to finish school without all that crap I'd done through hanging over me. I'm not an operative anymore. I have left all that behind and after ten years, its old news. I'm just a bad actor, happy just to keep working in Russia. Now I have the option to travel without getting arrested or charged with treason. My name change and Russian nationality is all legal. I am Aleksandr Novikov." Alex then exhaled. "I made a clean break in 2002. It was easier then. I was not in a good place mentally, I was paranoid, depressed and jumpy as hell. I think if you'd contacted me even last year, I'd have run. Now, I'm happy to talk, to accept that my life has moved on. I am no longer haunted by my past. It took another stay in clinic to get me here." Alex then thought on Tom Harris' decision to leave London behind, just like Alex had, only Tom had turned his back on his real family and now was closer to a bunch of rich kids from all over the world.

...

Alex phoned Oksana, who Antonin had hired to run his production companyduring his illness last year. She had done such a good job, Alex had left her to increase the companies output and profit tenfold in the past year.

"How's things?"

"Bussing. You picked the wrong week to dsappear on me. I have filled your diary in yor absence. You have three meeting next week, four interviews and you need to employ a publicist. I have arranged an interview for you in London with representation there for Tuesday. I can cancel if its inconvenient."

"No that OK. Am I flying?"

"No, Eurostar, first class, booked you into the Dorchester for two nights. Maybe you could catch a few shows at Stratford or Covent Garden." Oksana then swore "Shit, no visa."

"Its OK, I'll see what Antonin can arrange. Don't worry. Worst comes to the worst I'll have to cancel." Alex had not told anyone of the British Passport in his new name. His by right of his birth. He'd been tempted to burn it, but having a European passport made working abroad in the future a lot easier.

Alex decided not to tell Tom he was going home. It was just a few meetings. No sweat, he did not even have to go to Chelsea. At an internet cafe, Alex pulled up details on the Pleasure's knowing his old foster parents were back living in England. Edward was listed on London St. Mary's website as a Lecturer. Liz was a Costume Designer for the television, theatre and film productions in London. Sabina was a freelance journalist. Alex wondered if going back to England would be as cathartic as meeting with the Point Blanc Alumni and Tom or be poking a hornet's nest. He sat and stared at the google search page and decided not to fall back on his normal crutches of following Antonin's lead or the recommendations of his psychologist in Moscow but to actually make his own decisions.

...

It was a usual Monday morning for Edward Pleasure. Sorting through a pile of recent coursework and correspondence to discuss problems with his students during tutorials this afternoon, when he was disturbed by a soft knock on his open door. Edward looked up to see a tall blond man, who looked familiar until his brain kicked into gear. "Alex?... Is that really you?" Edward stood up and limped toward his missing foster son.

"Well, Edward. I did say I might drop in sometime and here I am" Alex kept his voice soft and low with the modulated tones of a slight americanised russian accent.

Edward reached forward and hugged the boy, now a man, tall, fit and healthy. Edward then looked closely into the face, so different from the boy who had just left. "God, Alex.. it is Alex? I suppose you have a new name now?"

Alex noted Edward stumble back and lean on his desk. His left leg still weak after the bombing in Nice. "For ten years it been Aleksandr Novikov."

The journalist laughed, "You escaped to Russia! New man ... how original!"

"Antonin's idea of a joke."

"Antonin?"

"Antonin Konovalov was at the Russian Embassy in Washington, but he had debriefed me after the Sarov incident in Murmansk. He kind of adopted me. We are still close. I have found family with him. He has been my guiding light for ten years." Alex could almost see the coggs going around in Edward's brain. The man memorizing all the ex-spy told him.

"So you live in Moscow?" Edward said, guessing on Alex's life for the past ten years.

"For seven years now. I lived in Ulan Ude before that."

The older man tried to put a location to that name. "Siberia?"

Alex shrugged, it had been complete anonymity there, a clean slate. It had, in fact, been just what he needed. "Yeah, its not as bad as its portrayed. Sodding cold in winter through."

"Can you tell me anything, or is it all secret?" Edward thinking back to their last very guarded conversation.

"Well, academically ... I passed both lower and upper school exams well. I have a good degree from the Russian Academy of Theatre Arts and I've not done bad work wise as an actor." Alex smiled at the last. "I'm single at the moment, but I lived with a really nice girl for four years. We broke up last year, it was a bit of a nightmare, but getting your heart broken is."

"You're an actor! Ha!" Of all the imagined scenarios for Alex, acting had never figured in any of his projections. "You wanted to play football. Why acting?"

"I have a weak heart, I even failed my medical for conscription at 18. So no, no playing football or anything too strenuous. Just getting by, acting is perfect really. I don't pretend to be a good actor. I played a serious bad guy on a soap. That's been my longest job to date. I prefer theatre, but I've avoided joining a full time company."

Edward then stood up and practically dragged Alex to the Departmental office. The woman behind the desk smiled as Edward entered. The journalist thrust his phone at the secretary. "Janine, please take our photo together. I don't think Liz will believe me without proof." He then introduced the photographer to her subject. "Alex this is Janine, the woman who makes this Department of English and Journalism work."

"Pleased to meet you Janine." Alex smiled brilliantly, just as he'd been taught for publicity and premieres.

"Alex as in your missing foster son?" Janine knew Edward had spent the last ten years looking for the missing boy.

"Yeah, I have reinvented myself. Out with the old in with the new. It took me six years just to contact Edward to say I was still breathing. I had a lot of issues to work out."

"God, look at the time, I have students to attend to. Are you staying, Alex?"

"No, I have an interview to attend." Alex reached into his pocket and pulled out two cards. "Dorchester Rm 410, I'm only here for two days, back to Moscow on Wednesday. This is my office number, ask for Oksana. She can pass a message on. I'm staying with Antonin and dare not pass on his personal numbers. I must get a new apartment when I get back and no I do not own a mobile. Hateful things really. Give you no respite whatsoever."

"See you round, Edward. Don't work too hard."


End file.
